


Darkness Falls

by ladydragon76



Series: Darkness Falls [1]
Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b>  Rebellion against corruption brought the death of Sentinel Prime.  An entire planet’s hope now lay in the hands of a young archivist chosen by the Matrix, an ancient relic that none really knew the origins of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** G1/IDW  
>  **Series:** Darkness Falls  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters:** Autobot Ensemble, Decepticon Ensemble  
>  **Warnings:** AU like whoa! Dark, Violence, Character Death, Torture, Rape, Triggery Content, Disturbing Mental Images, Energy Field, Tactile, and Spark Sex.  
>  **Notes:** In [Unorthodox](http://archiveofourown.org/works/406563) I explored the idea that all the traditional things done to help the new Prime settle with the Matrix, and keep said new Prime from being overwhelmed and driven insane were actually having the opposite affect on Optimus Prime. Ratchet was able to step in and help. Now I'm suggesting that Ratchet failed. The story is told through snapshots, vignettes. Please, for the love of everything holy, mind the warnings here, people.

[](http://imgur.com/PNCg5Qa)

**Darkness Falls**

 

What hope there once was lay in ash around him. Megatron stared out over the ruination of the battlefield, a silent, still witness to the end. The dead lay grey. The pleading and crying of those still bleeding out onto the wrecked and rusted ground echoed strangely in the odd silence.

A mech once known for his incredible speed limped off, slow and bleeding. The two Decepticons chasing him let him go. He wouldn’t live to see morning. Megatron himself felt old, exhausted, beaten and broken.

Megatron let his gaze drop to his feet, and wondered again; how had it come to this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover Image by Vesryn


	2. Part One

Ratchet stared from his datapad to the red and blue mech sitting and looking abashed -and just plain bashed- on the medical berth in front of him. “So, Orion,” he said slowly. “How did this happen?” Primus, he saw a lot of stupid injuries around the academy grounds. Enough that he knew this embarrassed shame by the feel of the energy in the room. Ratchet was sure he could walk in blindfolded and tell genuine injury or illness from some idiot’s newest stupidity.

“There was this crate of old datapads that I was going to sort and update in one of the storage rooms,” Orion began. “I’ve handled heavier plenty of times, but this one apparently wasn’t full, and the ‘pads shifted, and I almost dropped the box. Unfortunately, as I flinched, I tripped myself and fell into one of the bulk shelving units. It took its revenge and fell on me back.”

Ratchet’s lips twitched, due mostly to that last line being delivered in all seriousness. That wasn’t quite the stupid cause for the injuries that he’d been expecting. Being the academy, Ratchet -and the other medics in training- saw any number of junior scientists that had blown themselves up, or security force cadets that zigged when they should have zagged. They didn’t get many over-sized archivists squashed by their beloved files. “I see. You thought just because you’re big and solid that heavy inanimate objects well over your head wouldn’t take sadistic glee in tormenting you.”

“Well, they _are_ inanimate,” Orion smiled. “But you’re right, I shouldn’t have underestimated that crate’s mean streak. And I used to work down on the docks. Didn’t really see the point, and don’t have the creds to get reframed. That’s why I’m-“

Ratchet waved him off. “Yes. I see in your records. Off-shift classes?”

Orion’s smile was proud and bright. “Yes. It took me forever, but I studied all the time. Even my crew overseer encouraged the transfer.” He chuckled. “I still study all the time. I love the archives. Thought they loved me back.”

Ratchet grinned, made a few other notations from his preliminary scans, then set the datapad aside. “Well, you’ll be off that leg for a couple days. You can attend your shifts assuming you don’t transform, and don’t lift anything heavier than a few datapads.” He looked up and eyed the larger mech. “And by a few, I mean _three_ , not thirty! Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ratchet shook his helm. “Lie back. Sooner I start on you, the sooner the attending can check my work and get you back to your files.”

Orion obeyed, but remained braced up on his elbows, optics bright and interested as Ratchet began to carefully remove the warped pieces of plating. “The inhibitors working?”

“Yes. It’s quite odd to see you touching me and not feel it.”

“Just don’t purge a tank on me. It’s annoying and gross.” Ratchet grinned as Orion snickered and promised.

They chatted amiably enough, just small talk, until Ratchet was done and called the attending. Orion was given instructions to stay off his leg as much as possible. Ratchet slipped him some extra additives for his energon behind the attending’s back, and grinned.

“It’ll help your self-repair,” Ratchet said quietly. “So _use_ them.” He waited for Orion to nod and smile, then clapped the mech on his shoulder, and went to check his next patient.

~ | ~

“One moment please,” Orion said, stylus scribbling quickly over a datapad as he finished the notes for the re-filing project he’d been diligently working on for some weeks now.

The first thing he noticed as he set it aside and looked up were red hands. His spark jumped a little, as his optics finally met the medic’s. “I promise, I stayed off my leg.”

Ratchet chuckled. “Glad to hear it. I’m here on research though, not to berate you for being a poor patient.”

“Hey, I was a great patient!” Orion laughed, standing to reach over the desk and clasp wrists with Ratchet. “What can I help you find?”

Ratchet pulled a datapad from his subspace, and said, “It’s for my neuro-cybernetics class. I need these documents.”

Orion took the datapad, optic ridges raising. “Wow. That’s… a _lot_ of reading.” He swept his thumb over the screen to scroll through the list.

“Yeah. Tell me about it. I’ve read a bunch of those before, but for the assignment I have to be able to cite the source to support my thesis.”

Orion blinked at the young medic-to-be, then grinned. “I suddenly feel so dumb.” He looked back down at the list, and chuckled. “There are words here I can’t even pronounce.”

Ratchet snickered. “Don’t worry. There are words there the instructors can’t pronounce.”

Orion laughed, then sat back down to pull up the files. “Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll start sending them over to booth six for you.” He glanced up, and pointed. “Just over there. I’ll bring the datapad over as soon as I’m done, if that works for you?”

Ratchet smiled. “Perfect. Thanks.”

Orion caught himself watching as Ratchet walked away, and quickly shook his helm. _Focus on the work, not the pretty mech, Orion._

~ | ~

Orion was surprised to learn that _he_ was learning as he helped Ratchet gather documents and acted as a sounding board. Oh, he’d never be a medic, but the way their processors worked was unbelievably fascinating.

More fascinating, however, was Ratchet himself. His assignment and other classes -plus their workload- consumed much of his time, so Orion took to… bending the rules of the archives a little. Besides, goodies didn’t spill and Ratchet was very neat, so he wasn’t going to be leaving sticky globs of gelled energon lying all over the work booth.

Orion always carefully checked anyway, but there was never any sign of the snacks he snuck the junior medic by the end of their day.

Once the thesis was successfully finished and submitted, Ratchet insisted on taking Orion out to thank him properly. It was just the café across the park from the academy, but Ratchet paid, and they spent the entire evening talking about everything _except_ work and the academy.

Evening energon at the café progressed to the random night out at a nearby bar. It was full of academy students, and not at all as rough as the places Orion had been dragged to while still working the docks. They got entirely too cratered, neither remembering making it back to Ratchet’s dorm room. According to Ratchet’s roommate, a mech with rather fun, light-up helm fins, they’d been quite the sight when they stumbled in.

Orion suggested they leave the bars alone for a while -he was pretty sure he was still hung-over a week after that bender- and suggested an art museum the next time they decided to go out. Ratchet had teased him the whole way there about being too tame, but then they’d spent the entire day enjoying, mocking, and staring in confusion at the artistic creations of mechs from all over Cybertron.

They both kept things friendly. Ratchet never made any overtures, and he was blunt enough that Orion figured that if the mech desired him in return, he’d know it without a shred of doubt. The fact that the barest touch from Ratchet sent Orion’s spark into poetic flutters did not make things easy, but he wasn’t willing to sacrifice their friendship. He’d never known a mech like Ratchet. He was energetic, intelligent, funny, and really _cared_ about his small patient group of academy students.

Orion thought that more mechs should be as caring and generous-sparked as Ratchet. Gruff exterior and snarky attitude included if that’s what it took. The universe would be a better place.

~ | ~

Wheeljack looked up as the door slid open. He grinned, helm fins and optics flashing a little as Ratchet caught his gaze. “Ya know, I could always disappear for a few hours if ya wanna have that hot librarian of yours over for a bit?”

Ratchet snorted, and Wheeljack knew that if he’d had something non-breakable to throw, it would have been thrown at his helm. “He’s not interested that way. How many times do I have to tell you?” He flopped onto his berth, one foot still on the floor, and stared at the ceiling.

Wheeljack shook his helm, and looked back down at his datapad. “Mmhm. That’s why his optics follow ya the way they do. Total disinterest in ‘facin’ ya through the closest solid surface. Yeah.”

“Shut up.”

“I’d say, ‘make me’, but with the level of frustration ya got goin’ on, I’m not sure I’d survive, and I worked too hard on this project jus’ ta miss turnin’ it in tomorrow.”

Ratchet snickered. “No mercy for me in your spark?”

“Not when ya have a fine piece of aft givin’ ya moon optics, and trailin’ after ya like a lost turbopup. Nope.”

“You’re so mean to me. Worst best friend ever. In the history of forever!”

Wheeljack laughed, dropping the datapad into his lap to look over at Ratchet. “Just ‘face him already!”

“I ca-a-a-an’t!”

Wheeljack laughed again as Ratchet did his best dramatic roll-flop and whine combo, then ruined the imitation by snickering.

“Seriously, though, Jack. I can’t. If I liked him less, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Now _that_ is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You know I’m leaving after graduation. There’s better experience out there working in the skirmish zones than in setting up some cozy little practice where all the education I’ve been cramming into my processors will go to waste.”

Wheeljack shrugged. “I just don’t see why ya can’t have both.” He held up his hand as Ratchet’s mouth dropped open to argue. “Primus below, Ratch! Ya act like ‘facin’ and admittin’ ya like the mech means ya’ll have ta get formally bonded spark ta spark tomorrow! Ain’t like that. Should be enjoyin’ him while ya can, and when ya can after ya do leave.”

Ratchet was quiet a moment. “I just don’t want one of those clichéd academy romances where we get so caught up in one another, we miss other opportunities. We’re too young for that slag.”

Wheeljack shook his helm, picking his datapad back up. “I know, I know… Next thing ya know, one of ya’s sparked, then ya have half a dozen bitlets underfoot, and neither of ya realizes your dreams…” he trailed off, and waved one hand around, then slanted a calculated look at Ratchet. “Hope ya don’t regret not gettin’ a taste though, when ya’re stuck elbow deep in some fragger’s chassis and an acid storm’s rollin’ in.”

The bolster bounced harmlessly off Wheeljack’s shoulder, making him laugh as Ratchet created new and interesting ways to combine foul words.

~ | ~

Orion wondered, as he stared at the shocked expression on Ratchet’s face, if he could believably blame the whole two sips of high grade he’d had as an excuse for his lapse. Maybe just apologize? Though he was hardly sorry for that kiss. In fact, he was quite willing to repeat the infraction on their friendship.

Orion opened his mouth, not at all sure what was going to come out of it, and found it covered by Ratchet’s in a far more heated kiss than their first. He wrapped his arms around the newly certified medic, forgotten high grade sloshing over his hand.

They weren’t drunk, so that really wasn’t a valid excuse for this. The graduation party was only just getting under way actually. Somewhere off to the side, someone catcalled. Someone else whistled and told Ratchet to ‘Go! Get that hot librarian!’ Orion heard it, was amused, but was _far_ more captivated by the mouth moving over his own and what the invading tongue was doing.

Breathless, Ratchet pulled back with obvious effort. “We should go somewhere more appropriate.”

More appropriate turned out to be Orion’s small, tidy loft and the sofa that pulled out and flattened into a berth in the main room. They didn’t waste time with adjusting the sofa, Orion simply pushing Ratchet to lay along the length of it, covering him with his own larger frame. They ended up on the floor anyway only moments later, and were too involved to bother picking themselves back up.

Orion would never have classified himself as worldly, but he was no innocent untouched mechling, yet Ratchet managed to inflame him as no other ever had. As he’d never dreamed anyone could. Their mouths locked in hard, hungry kisses. Where the red hands went, pleasure blazed over Orion’s sensornet. Their fields synced with an ease usually only fabled in long term lovers. Thought fell away, and the walls rang with the harmonics between them. Overload hit hard, simultaneously, and tore them from the unending kiss. Orion moaned long and low into Ratchet’s neck while the medic sobbed in sharp cries.

A look. A snicker. Then another kiss, and it began again. Then again.

When Orion woke the next morning he was alone on his floor. Beside him was a cube of energon and a datachip containing the contact information for the medical group Ratchet was attached to. Orion saved the information, doing his best to quash down the feeling of abandonment. He had always known Ratchet would leave, and he chided himself for the thoughts of wishing the medic had stayed. This was his dearest friend’s life wish realized.

He sent off a congratulatory message, mostly, he told himself, so Ratchet would know Orion had received the information, then went to clean himself up. It wouldn’t do to arrive at the archives with his finish as scratched as it was.

No matter how much he wanted to keep them as mementos.

~ | ~

Orion sipped his evening energon, the vidscreen connected to the planetary news feed. He was worried. Quite a lot. There was a fair amount of rioting in Vos. Mechs had even been killed by the Security Forces sent in.

Somewhere in that mess was Ratchet.

Ratchet. Orion couldn’t get him out of his mind. He dreamed of their night together when he recharged. He could, even now, feel the sweet pressure of Ratchet’s lips on his own.

He was somewhere in Vos, tending the injured and not replying to any of Orion’s messages. Orion tried to be patient. He tried not to worry too much, and his notes always contained apologies for being a bother and hopes that Ratchet was well. That he knew the medic had to be busy, but to please just ping back when he had a spare moment.

Orion could admit he was frightened. Things all over were so bad. There were little uprisings in the poorer sectors over energon. Mechs without work. Ancient sparkling tales of dark, mostly dead mechs roaming the deepest levels of the cities were cropping up less as tales younglings told to scare one another, and more as whispers of things to truly be feared as mechs starved and turned to murder just to feed on the energon of their victims.

Orion could hardly credit some of the things reported. It was like the world was crumbling, and there was nothing he could do. He had no idea what could even _be_ done by those that had the power to do something. Anything. More troubling was how those in power didn’t even _seem_ to be trying.

Orion shook himself, standing and turning off the vidscreen. It was getting late. He resisted, just barely, sending another note to Ratchet. Two on the same day was a bit ridiculous, and he shouldn’t bother and distract the medic with his overblown fears.

He shifted the sofa to his berth, but recharge was a very long time coming.


	3. Part Two

Starscream stood outside the balcony door to his home. It’d been so long since he’d been here. He wondered if his trine would even welcome him.

Especially after they learned why he’d come crawling back.

He was lucky to be able to come back at all, and despised the sense of gratitude he felt toward the one soft, reasonable voice in the Science Council’s chambers.

~~ _”My esteemed colleagues, we cannot prosecute,” Perceptor, his name was Perceptor and it rang a vague bell in Starscream’s memory. He had interrupted the very heated demands that Starscream stand trial for murder. “There is just no proof. We must take into account that events could have occurred just as Starscream says they did.”_

_“And what do you propose? That we waste the few resources remaining to investigate his lies?” Council Leader Nebulos did not wait for an answer. “However, I am forced to agree with you at least on one point. We cannot prosecute. The courts **might** see reason, but with funding so low, it would be a waste of time and resources for even that.” Nebulos pinned Starscream with a hate-filled glare. “You are hereby stripped of your credentials. Through intent or sheer negligence,” he sneered ‘negligence’, “you have cost us one of our greatest student minds. The things one such as Skyfire could have done for our world-“ Nebulos stopped himself before another tirade. “You are expelled. You never even happened! Your records will be stricken from our archives. Now get out of my sight!”_

_Starscream kept his jaw locked, optics burning as he turned and left._ ~~

Starscream had to fight back more tears as he stared at the door. He loved Skyfire more than they could ever possibly have. He was mentor, best friend, confidant. The first person outside his long-dead caretaker and trinemates to ever care about him. The first person to say, “You can do this, Star,” that Starscream had actually _believed_ meant it.

He’d tried hard, fought against the stereotype, did his very, very best for the sake of his own ambition and need to succeed. He’d given even more just to see Skyfire’s smile when he got something right, or suggested an idea that would make the experiment work. He had viciously set down the rumors that he and Skyfire were lovers. It wasn’t true, and he’d never see the older student’s reputation marred like that. Starscream was a realist after all. He knew he was a stone around Skyfire’s neck. Knew that Skyfire’s accomplishments would always be questioned if Starscream’s name was attached. It wasn’t fair, but neither was any part of life.

Skyfire, Primus bless his thrusters, hadn’t cared. Science was about discovery. Science was about making the world, and their lives, better. He never cared for such silly things as reputation or gossip. He also never cared about interfacing or relationships that were more than fellowship, and only appreciated Starscream for his brilliant mind. Never for his lithe tetrajet form, or the angle of his wings, or his incredibly pretty face. Things that had made him safe to Starscream. There was _no_ ulterior motive. Skyfire was, had been one of those exceedingly rare, unparalleled, _honest_ individuals.

Starscream couldn’t love him more even had he been _in_ love.

Now he was gone, and the world was a darker place.

Thundercracker found him on the balcony when he arrived home, and drew Starscream into his arms. The tears came then, accompanied by wrenching sobs and the whole sordid tale. Skywarp had arrived at some point, and Starscream did not remember them taking him inside.

Looking around, Starscream frowned as he saw how much had changed. “Where-“

“Gone,” Thundercracker said, watching Starscream’s face as his optics swept the empty walls. “For a while there Vosian art was still prized. I had to. I’m sorry.” Starscream tightened his grip on Thundercracker’s hand briefly. Art wasn’t important when his trine would starve. He should never have left. He should have stayed and taken care of them, and then maybe Skyfire would still be alive.

“You’ve missed a lot,” Skywarp added. “They’re really squeezing Vos.” ‘They’ being the Security Forces sent to police the civil unrest in cities like Vos.

“Yes. _Why_ are they pushing so hard here?” Starscream asked. He was only marginally aware of current events, but chose to forgive himself. He’d been a little busy mired in his own tiny universe.

“It’s here, Tarn, Kaon. A few other places too,” Thundercracker answered.

“There’s this gladiator,” Skywarp cut in, optics lighting in excitement. “You have to see him, Star! He’s frelling amazing! Hasn’t ever lost! And he’s smart too!”

“Warp’s in love.”

“Shut up! Am not! He’s been holding rallies. Me and TC been talking about going to one. Listening. He’s been talking about how the ruling class is fragging with us all. How if we got together, we outnumber them. We could do something about it. They’d _have_ to listen if enough voices shouted at them.”

Starscream’s optic ridge arched. Things _had_ to be bad if Skywarp was interested in politics. “Then maybe we should.”

“Star-“

Starscream shook his helm, squeezing Thundercracker’s hand again. “How long until we lose our home?” Thundercracker’s optics dropped to his lap. “I know you’ve been trying. I know both of you well enough to know you aren’t lazy or stupid, and the art wouldn’t be gone if you were squandering your earnings. I’ll go listen,” he said, deciding it. “I have no employment, and no scholarship stipend anymore. I’ll go to this gladiator’s next gathering and hear him out. At least I’ll be doing something useful until I can find employment.”

Thundercracker nodded, and Skywarp bounced in place where he sat to Starscream’s other side. “Take me some image captures! Please? Please-please- _please_!”

Starscream huffed a soft laugh, the tension cracking a little. “I missed you.” Skywarp beamed, and leaned into the light kiss.

“We missed you. Glad you’re home,” Thundercracker murmured, helm tipping to rest against Starscream’s as his free hand moved over the lower edge of one white wing.

Starscream sighed, and softened to their touches. He was more glad than he thought he’d be to be back. Here, for now at least, he was safe. He was loved. They hadn’t cast him away for his failures. Had not even shown disappointment.

Starscream firmed up his resolve. He would take care of his trine as he should have from the beginning, and he would use all he had learned to do it. They would not be homeless, broken Seekers. He wouldn’t allow it.

For now, however, he submitted to their touch, reminding himself as well as them why they had bonded as a trine.

~ | ~

Megatron ignored Soundwave’s last minute fussing. It didn’t matter that he had the financial backing to be immaculate now or not. He couldn’t very well go out there and expect to be fully respected if he looked like a Towerling’s plaything. Or, in his particular case, a senator’s ‘pawn’.

The crowd, always noisy and boisterous, went suddenly insane, roaring and screaming. Megatron looked out into the gladiatorial pit, and watched with grim satisfaction as one of the most outspoken of his detractors was put down. The mechs fighting were half Gunmetal’s size, but they were vicious. Whispers of ‘twins’ and ‘abomination’ drifted around the arena between fights. It was the sort of thing Megatron intentionally didn’t care about.

Honestly, what the frag did it matter if they were born bondmates or not? He was aware of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker’s intelligence and skills beyond the arena. Neither of them should be here. _Most_ of the mechs here shouldn’t be here.

Bloodied and smiling, but optics belying them, the twins nodded as the walked by. “Kick aft,” Sideswipe offered.

Megatron didn’t bother to acknowledge them, and strode out into the bright lights of the Pit.

The crowd went wild, and Megatron raised his arms, turning in a slow circle. This was a means to an end. Just like that senator that thought he was using Megatron. Soundwave knew, and did what he was able to do given his current enslavement as well. There were plans there too, but Megatron could not think of any of that now.

His opponent charged out of the darkness of a different tunnel, not waiting for the start horn to blare. Megatron was ready, and stepped forward to meet his foe.

~ | ~

Red Alert stood as his brothers entered the small motel room. “Primus!” He rushed forward as the door slid shut, and threw his arms around their necks.

_We’re fine,_ Sideswipe said as they held one another tight.

“I hate this!” Red Alert stepped back to hold them at arm’s length so he could look them over. “I _hate_ this!” he hissed.

“We’re fine,” Sideswipe insisted. “We won.”

“Yes? And at what cost this time?”

Sunstreaker dropped his gaze, and moved to the berth to sit on the edge. Sideswipe frowned at Red Alert, and followed to sit with their brother.

Red Alert scrubbed at his face. “I’m sorry.” He knelt at Sunstreaker’s feet, hands resting on his knees. “Please. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I know how much the two of you have sacrificed for me. I didn’t mean to bring in the doom and gloom again either.” He forced a smile, reaching one hand up to stroke Sunstreaker’s cheek. “I have great news.”

Sideswipe, always able to rally faster than his brothers, smiled and tugged Red Alert up to sit sideways in his lap. “Oh? Find some rich Towerling to fall in love with you and take us away from all this?”

Red Alert wasn’t sure whether to laugh too, or be offended when Sunstreaker snorted. “Oh hush,” he said, and tweaked Sunstreaker’s helm fin. “I was hired on for the Iacon Security Forces position.”

There was complete silence for a moment. Red Alert couldn’t even feel what they were thinking over the bond.

“So…” Sideswipe began slowly. “You’re going to work for the mechs trying to shut the Pits down?”

“How’s that going to work out when we finally get busted?” Sunstreaker asked.

“You just don’t get busted.” Red Alert stood, and began pacing a little. “And we continue to keep our secret.”

Sunstreaker growled, “Yeah, there’s a shocker!”

“We wouldn’t be able to say anything even if we were all legit,” Sideswipe said. “It’s good, Red. We’re proud of you. You’re the best for a _real_ job right now anyways. Sunny and I will follow as soon as something becomes available.”

“Frag that! Megatron’s right!” Sunstreaker hissed as both Red Alert and Sideswipe’s mouths opened. “He is! There isn’t going to be any kind of peaceful reform. The Towerlings aren’t going to suddenly share. The Senate’s not suddenly going to grow sparks!”

_I,_ Red Alert said softly through the bond, reaching out emotionally as well. “I hate it too. You must know that?”

Sunstreaker crossed his arms, and leaned back against the wall. “I hate it more.” _He’s dead. We had no choice._

Red Alert felt his spark breaking all over again. It wasn’t fair. Sunstreaker was a brilliant artist. He should be bitching about lighting and Sideswipe borrowing his cadmium yellow to finger paint, not fighting to the death in an illegal, unsanctioned arena fight in the underbelly of society.

Sideswipe shouldn’t be there either. He should be doing what he did best. He should be seducing the creds right out of wealthy mechs’ accounts for the trinkets they covet and Sunstreaker’s beautiful work. Of the three of them, it was Red Alert that never made a name for himself. He earned his keep tending their home, handling the day to day chores. He did simple errands for his brothers.

He’d been _happy_ like that too. He was never in the spotlight. Towerlings didn’t stomp their feet and pout sculpted lips because _he_ was in a snit and refused to paint them. Mechs from all over Cybertron and the annexed colonies did not call him begging for this, that, or the other. He cleaned the apartment, made sure his busy brothers refueled, chased the cybercat when he stole Sunstreaker’s paintbrushes or Sideswipe’s datachips, and lived a simple, happy life.

He didn’t mind being the one to take care of things now, but he wasn’t doing a terribly good job so far. If he was, his brothers wouldn’t be slicing off bits of their sparks in every match just so the three of them had enough energon to stay functional.

“Hey,” Sideswipe murmured, pulling Red Alert into an embrace. “We’ll get through. We always do. This isn’t the worst we’ve survived.”

“We had so much once.”

Sunstreaker pushed off the wall, wrapping himself around Sideswipe and Red Alert. “So we get it all back.”

“Yeah. And we know what we had, and we did it before, so we can do it again.” Sideswipe captured Red Alert’s face between his hands. “We aren’t those mechs flailing around without the first slagging clue.” He smiled, and pressed his lips to Red Alert’s. “You got a job. You’re the best of the three of us. You’re smart. You’re unknown. You can become something this time. You deserve some limelight.”

“I don’t want the limelight,” Red Alert whispered, resting his forehelm against his brother’s. “I just want you both safe.”

“It’s you we worry about.”

“He’s right,” Sunstreaker said. “Me and Sides have each other. You’re out there all alone.” _So… just be careful._

Red Alert smiled, then turned to kiss Sunstreaker. “Soon. I swear it. Soon, you’ll meet me in our own home, and never go back to those awful fights.”

“If any of us can do it, it’s you, Red,” Sideswipe said, voice soft as he pulled, and the three of them angled back to the berth.

One day. One day as soon as Red Alert could manage it, they would be rejoining their sparks on their own berth, in their own home again. Not some seedy cheap motel. His beloved brothers, bondmates, deserved far better than this.

~ | ~

Megatron prowled across the riser, tread heavy as he spoke, voice booming out over the crowd of mechs. “It isn’t going to change until _we_ change it!”

A roar went up in agreement.

“They sit in their Towers, in their Senate, in their plush offices with their fancy high grade and treats so rich that our starving tanks would reject it! Here we are scraping, fighting, _dying_ just so our loved ones can live to have their next meal! We are the strong! We are the deserving! They sneer down on us, and why?”

The arena rang with silence, all the mechs staring up at Megatron, hanging on his every word. “Why, I ask you?”

“We’re nothing. We’re gutter trash,” a low, soft voice spoke.

Megatron’s optics jumped to the mech. He was small, compact, dirty plating with garnet optics. He looked furious with the world as a whole, and completely surprised that he’d spoken up. He also looked like he could fight, had been in a round or two recently, but Megatron had never seen him in the Pits. “Or so they say,” he replied, and held out his hand. “Come here.”

The mech obeyed, armor held tight, shoulders hunched, optics shifting everywhere. Megatron had no doubt at all that he’d catalogued every threat and half a dozen avenues of escape if things turned suddenly hostile. _This_ was the mech he was leading a rebellion for.

“What’s your name?”

The mech shrugged with the tiniest of movements, hunkering into himself even deeper. “Not important.” Said with a flatness that told Megatron the mech truly believed it, but worse, wanted everyone else to believe it too. A life endured as a mere shadow.

Megatron had the sudden urge to give the mech a name himself, something he could be proud of, but decided against it. This mech should already be proud. He lowered his voice, still audible to those in the first couple rows, but pitched more intimately. “I would argue that it is vitally important. May I know your name?”

Those deep red optics locked on Megatron’s, shoulders squaring a bit. “Drift. I’m Drift.”

Megatron smiled, and offered his hand again, chin lifting in approval as Drift reached forward and clasped his wrist. “Stay here,” Megatron murmured, then turned back to his audience.

“We are, each one of us, vitally important.” Megatron gestured at Drift. “We should not, as we rise, forget who we were before we cast aside their chains. Their labels.” He felt Drift flinch as he gripped the mech’s shoulder, but pretended not to notice. “We should not ever forget that we came from the mines!”

There was a section that cheered.

“We should not forget that _they_ drove us to fight in _their_ Gladiatorial Pits! Oh yes! _Their_! Pits. Just who do you think funds me?!” Megatron swept an arm out wide.

Soundwave moved forward a half step on cue, and a very large part of the crowd roared. The silent mech that no longer hid himself, nor his connection to Senator Ratbat. They all knew him and why he stood beside Megatron.

“We should never forget our enslavement! And we should _never_ ,” Megatron turned his helm toward Drift, dipping his chin in a slight bow of respect, and lowering his voice. “Never forget that we were strong enough to survive the gutters, then step out of them.” He smiled as he felt Drift’s EM field flare in pride.

~ | ~

Starscream flew low, skimming the surface to stay below sensors as his trine mates and the other four trine leaders followed him back to Vos. The meeting with Megatron had gone well, and other than Skywarp’s overly excited wing twitches, he thought they’d made a good impression. In fact, Skywarp’s obvious enthrallment may even have aided them. Starscream had been hard facts, blunt questions, and all but demanding to know _how_ the gladiator would be capable of supporting the fuel needs of a Seeker fleet. Skywarp’s eagerness probably helped balance it all out.

Starscream did believe it was for the best, and Megatron’s answers had been satisfying enough. Starscream could see areas for improvement, and that the rebel leader would need educated on Seekers, but it _could_ work. There was hope there where Vos held none for so many.

Now it was time to quickly and quietly gather as many other willing Vosians, and get back to Kaon before the Security Forces found them out.

From the back of the formation, Silverwing cried out in pain. They were too close to the ground to save him.

Starscream shouted over the comms, and they all transformed, landing hard and crouching low.

“Was he shot?” Acid Storm asked.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Typhoon replied, optics scanning.

Starscream stared at the wreckage that was once Silverwing, and knew the mech was dead. Every Seeker had seen what happened to a mech in a bad enough crash. Silverwing was molten slag. “There were no shots.” His spark pounded, and he turned toward Cloudrunner. “What’s going on in Vos?”

“What?” Typhoon and Acid Storm asked in tandem.

Thundercracker was gripping Skywarp’s shoulder, both staring at Starscream. Cloudrunner’s optics dimmed as he focused on his own trine mates, his _bond_ mates, waiting in the city for them to return.

_Star?_

_He was knocked out of the sky,_ Starscream said, resisting the urge to press closer to his trine. _Something’s wrong._

Cloudrunner leapt to his feet. “Vos is under attack!”

“Wait! You fool!” Starscream launched after Cloudrunner, twisting under him to grab the unthinking mech’s shoulders.

“Let go! They’re in the middle of it!”

“Get yourself killed, and they’ll suffer far longer than Silverwing did!” Starscream shifted his grip, ruthlessly digging his fingers into Cloudrunner’s wing hinge. The others caught up, and they all hovered in the air. “We need a plan. Contact your mates,” he told Typhoon and Acid Storm.

Typhoon smirked. “Already have.” The darker green Seeker gestured toward Vos, expression sobering. “They’ve got Solarshot’s cousin’s trine with them, but they’re blocked from escape. It’s a full-on attack.”

“Sunstorm says the same thing,” Acid Storm added. “They’re together, and they’ve got a wounded youngling with them, but they’re hiding in a damaged building near the Spires.”

Starscream frowned. “Get me Solarshot’s location, we’ll go that way and shoot our way in.”

“I can just pop in and out?” Skywarp asked.

Thundercracker was already shaking his head, but it was Starscream that said, “No. There’s no way you’ll have the energy to teleport more than a few times, and we can’t stay in Vos. We need to get as many out as we can, and run for Kaon. Reserve your strength. Teleport only in an absolute emergency.”

“Injured winglet,” Skywarp grumbled.

“He’s stable,” Acid Storm said. “First thing I asked after they told me. He’s got a bent wing. Painful, but not life threatening.”

“Until he has to fly!” Cloudrunner tugged himself out of Starscream’s hold. “My mates are trapped!” Starscream could hear the panic in his voice, and glanced at Skywarp, resigned, who nodded. Cloudrunner didn’t notice, optics wild as he stared toward Vos. “It’s burning around them, and they can’t get out without getting shot!”

“Coordinates?” Skywarp asked. Cloudrunner blinked at him. “Sounds like an absolute emergency to me. Someone better have a cube waiting for me though.”

“Be careful,” Thundercracker murmured, gripping Skywarp’s elbow. He got a smirk and wink in reply, and apparently having received the coordinates, Skywarp disappeared in a purple flash and _vop_ of displaced air.

~

Skywarp landed in choking blackness and acrid heat. The mechs he’d landed on were screaming and beating at him.

“Stop it! Stop! Slaggit!” There wasn’t much room to move, and neither of them would stop flailing. Skywarp latched on, and teleported back out.

He reappeared on the ground under where they had caught Cloudrunner, and danced back quickly as both mechs purged their tanks. “You’re welcome!” he chirped, then coughed, billows of smoke coming from his own vents. Fragging Pits! He’d only been there a few short seconds.

Thundercracker beat Starscream to him, and Skywarp smiled. He exhaled, blowing a smoke ring at his trine mate, then giggling through another coughing fit.

“You’re such an idiot.”

“Love you too!”

Starscream squeezed Skywarp’s arm, nodding toward Cloudrunner, where the mech wept over his sick mates. “We still have work to do. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Skywarp said, waving them both off of him. “They wouldn’t have lasted much longer though, I don’t think. I couldn’t even see.” He inhaled deeply, coughing hard one more time to clear his vents “Ugh… I taste fire.”

Starscream rolled his optics, but his lips twitched as he turned toward the others. “Cloudrunner, you will stay here and stay hidden. Set up a triage. Tend your mates. Skywarp will be bringing any critically injured to you, and a real medic if we can find one.”

Skywarp’s helm tipped. He would?

Thundercracker nudged his arm, offering a cube of energon. It was thin, like the slag they’d been stuck on for a while now, but it’d top him off so he _could_ teleport.

“Typhoon, Acid Storm,” Starscream continued. “Let’s go find your mates, and any others we can haul out of there.”

They launched and flew fast. Skywarp actually had a lot of fun blasting through the blockade. Starscream’d been right. Take ‘em fast and hard, and they hadn’t even gotten off a call for help. Typhoon was left with his trine, and a handful of others to hold the opening. Starscream led the way cautiously into Vos, Acid Storm directing him toward his mates, the injured youngling, and now a few more Seekers they’d found.

Skywarp stared at the burning city, and tried not to look too long at the burned out, crushed, and greyed shells of Vosians littering it. His spark pounded, but the excitement of it all was muted by the sheer holocaust around them.

As they moved inward, Sunstorm and Icestorm led their group out. Mechs found along the way were directed back to Typhoon. More than a few times the four had to dart into the husk of a building to hide from patrols. Skywarp glared into the darkness, listening to the marching steps as they stomped by. He _hated_ this sneaking around, but Starscream was the smartest of them. He said he’d love to rip the sparks from every last mech out there, but they’d be dead before they did anyone else any good.

Skywarp kept thinking about the youngling with Sunstorm’s group. Get the winglet out. Get him out, and call him a winglet so he’d be fragged off and ignore his pain until they could get him back to Kaon.

It was a good plan. Woulda worked too, but just as the two groups met, someone let the Unmaker lose on them. The street exploded. Mechs screamed, Skywarp was sent flying into a wall. He hurried to his feet, searching for his trine, for Starscream. What the slag had happened?

He spotted the youngling trying to shove rubble off a soot-streaked, pale purple Seeker, but didn’t get more than a step in their direction when another bomb went off.

Right on top of them.

Skywarp screamed, then spun and threw a punch at whoever had grabbed him. Thundercracker caught his fist, but they both fell. It saved their lives.

“Star!” Thundercracker bellowed.

Skywarp spotted Starscream laid out on the ground with Sunstorm, half-covering the golden mech’s body with his own. Security mechs were lining up their shots.

The world exploded again, but this time the shockwave rolled through Skywarp with the booming familiarity of Thundercracker’s sonic charge. Mechs were flattened, Seekers and Security Troops alike. It gave Starscream all the time he needed to drag his cousin up to his feet, and run toward Skywarp.

“Get us out of here!”

Skywarp felt hands all over him. Counted. Calculated. Prayed.

Then teleported.

The sounds of blaster bolts and shouts and the roar of the dying city disappeared.

Time stretched out, the flashing sparkles of subspace dancing around them. Skywarp flailed out as he felt a hand slip off of him, but he could do nothing.

Then, with a sudden jolt, they were back with Cloudrunner.

“No! No! Where’s Razorwing?!” someone was screaming. “Why didn’t you bring him?!” Then someone was shaking Skywarp. Hitting Skywarp.

Skywarp whimpered, vision narrowing to two pinpoints of grey, then going completely black.

~ | ~

“I can’t believe that you, Starscream, would suggest leveling a city.” Megatron frowned at his new Air Commander. He understood the Vosians’ desire for revenge, but he couldn’t countenance wholesale slaughter. “We’d be no better than them. Such actions would hurt our cause, not bolster it.”

Starscream sputtered for a moment. “What?! No! I don’t want to destroy Praxus! _He’s_ there! I want to lead a strike team on Platinum! _He_ is responsible for Vos! _He_ will die by a Seeker’s hand. Preferably _mine_!”

Megatron raised a hand to still the sharp voice. “Your intel?”

“Triple checked by Soundwave.”

Megatron nodded. “Construct a plan. _But_ ” he said, “I want every last Seeker that goes to comport himself as a warrior. I do not want the blood of sparklings on our hands. If there is anyone you believe can’t control himself, I want his name, and I want him grounded and not included. Is that understood?”

Starscream’s wings relaxed, and when he replied, his voice was much more controlled. “Understood, and agreed.”

~ | ~

It became apparent very quickly that something was wrong. Starscream and his Seekers _were_ being fired at, but then far more shots went wide. Within minutes Praxus was burning.

//Starscream!//

//I see.//

//What do we do?// Sunstorm asked, nudging forward in the formation, then twisting to avoid a projectile.

//We stick to the plan.//

//I think it might be a trap,// Thundercracker said.

//Then we die avenging our people!// Cloudrunner shouted.

//The intel was good,// Starscream said. //We follow through.//

And it _was_ good, but Praxus fell beneath their wings from the bombardment heaved at them. It _was_ a setup, but there was nothing now that could be done but try to salvage their own mission. The Senator responsible for ordering Vos leveled was fleeing with a small group of guards. He would not escape.

//He underestimated us. Thought that we _would_ help destroy Praxus,// Crosswind said, his voice, as always, calm and low. //He thought he would be safe.//

//He was wrong,// Starscream said, then dove, his trine mates at his wings.

The first pass was just a strafing run to pepper the ground with blasts, maybe hit a few guards, hopefully cause them to scatter. Seekers wheeled in the sky, then dove again. The grounded mechs ran for cover, only a few hunching close around Platinum.

Starscream wove through the blaster bolts, hearing the hiss or curse as other Seekers caught glancing blows. //Get the guards,// he ordered, slowing, Thundercracker and Acid Storm sliding ahead of him. //Now, Warp.//

A purple flash, a sharp cry, then another flash. One guard gone, and the other two frantically looking around. Thundercracker and Acid Storm transformed, Starscream following a moment after. The guards tried to flee, but they were swept up. Starscream let himself fall, feet forward, hands clawed to grab.

Platinum never had a chance. Starscream’s thrusters engaged fully, shining white-silver plating scorching and melting from the heat. Platinum’s scream cut off with a sickening gurgle, Starscream’s weight and momentum crushing his chest.

A few paces away, another screaming mech impacted the ground. Skywarp appeared to the side of the wreckage, looking angry and satisfied.

//We need to go!// Thundercracker shouted over the comms. //The troops are converging, and Soundwave’s reporting a call going out for all forces to meet here.//

Starscream limped toward Skywarp, his trine mate meeting him before he’d taken more than a handful of steps. “Slagged yourself.”

“It worked,” Starscream rasped, body aching. “Get me in the air. I can fly after that.”

Skywarp snorted, but obliged, getting them up to speed, and waiting for Starscream to transform and get going under his own power. Seekers slid into formation all around him, and Starscream angled for the stars above. They needed distance from the ground, from the weapons that were being fired at them with more accuracy now.

Still, Starscream was grimly pleased, and he could feel the same emotion surrounding him. They’d destroyed one of their own cities, and he had no doubt how that would be spun, but Vos had been avenged.

~ | ~

Prowl stood staring up at the North Gate of what was once Praxus. Security Forces were milling around, waiting for the order to enter. Fly-bys had resulted in mechs being shot down. _Someone_ had still been in there a mere hour ago. The latest reports from those that dared and had the ability to peek over the city walls, said it was a wasteland. Nothing but smoldering ruins as far as the optic could see, and none of the Forces on the ground during the attack had reported in for hours. They were presumed dead.

When finally allowed into the city, Prowl felt his spark sink. How could they possibly find survivors here? _Were_ there any? He calculated the odds to be very low as he surveyed the damage. Streets he’d grown to maturity on were unrecognizable. Dull grey forms littered the streets, energon blood darkening the ground, running in rivulets to collect and mingle with others’ vital fluids. There was not a single upright building left.

Further in, the famed Crystal Gardens were a shattered ruin.

Prowl stared for a while, silently mourning, not the only mech, but the only Praxian. The only one present that used to run the paths, playing with others while their creators and guardians watched on indulgently. The only one that later sat studying quietly with the calm, chiming ring of the crystals for music.

Prowl made himself move on and was apart from the other search and rescue groups when he heard a soft sound. He froze, optics and sensors sweeping.

There!

Prowl shouted over his comms, running toward the faint blip of life his sensors had locked on to. “Don’t try to move,” he called out as he heard a soft sound of pain. Prowl carefully picked his way up a hill of rubble, then spotted the little cavern formed by the toppled walls. “I’m Prowl. I’ll-“

“Stay back!” a terrified voice cried. “Y-you just s-st-stay b-b-b-back!”

Prowl held his hands out where they could be seen, noting, even through the frightened stuttering, the Praxian accent. “My name is Prowl,” he repeated softer, sinking to his knees. “I’m here to help you.”

A sob came from the darkness. “That’s what h-he said, but th-then he t-tried to k-k-kill m-me!”

“I am SecForce, stationed currently in Iacon, but of Praxian lineage.” Prowl motioned the small group that had come at his call to stay away as he stretched out on his front, doorwings fanning where the trapped mech could hopefully see them. Prowl could see the round bore of a blaster and a single, cracked blue optic.

The optic narrowed. “S-so was he! Security, I m-mean.”

Prowl remained silent a moment. The mech was clearly confused, but given the trauma he’d have to have suffered, that was to be expected. Prowl’s job was to get him calm and out. Medics would handle the mech’s recovery. “May I know your name?”

The mech was quiet for a moment, then barely loud enough for Prowl to hear, said, “Bluestreak. My name’s Bluestreak.”

“Hello, Bluestreak.” Prowl shifted a little, and slowly to get more comfortable, settling in, in a way that allowed Bluestreak to see his hands, and also see that he wasn’t just going to leave. “When the attack began, I was in Iacon. Security Forces from all over Cybertron are here to help. The Decepticons’ attack has been over for hours now.”

“Wasn’t Decepticons!” Bluestreak hissed. “They just flew by.”

“Bluestreak. The city is gone.”

“I know!” Voice high and tight, breaking on a sob. “Why would they do that?”

“Vos.”

“ _It wasn’t the Vosians!_ ”

Prowl winced at the shrill volume, then sighed as the blue optic disappeared and the sound of broken weeping came from the dark hollow. “It’s over, Bluestreak. Won’t you please come out? I am Praxian. My spark is guttering at the loss of our home. I’m the only one here. Please come out so I’m not alone?”

That cracked optic blinked back into existence, and Prowl kept his expression as earnest as he could. “There’s no one else? Just us?” Bluestreak asked.

Prowl shook his helm. “There must be others elsewhere, but it’s just you and me here.”

Bluestreak stared out at Prowl, silent and very still for quite a few minutes. When he spoke, his voice was small and frightened. “My creators are gone. Where will I even go?”

“With me,” Prowl said, the words out before he had even considered them. It was too late to take them back, and he decided that one young Praxian under his tutelage would not be a negative thing.

“But after? I… I k-k-killed him. Am I going to prison after we get to Iacon?”

Prowl blinked in surprise, then shook his helm. “No. Though you should tell no other. Not right now. You and I can speak about many things once the medics have tended you and we are somewhere safe. Can you exit unaided?”

“Yes,” Bluestreak whispered. The blaster disappeared, and with a fair amount of scrambling, scraping sounds, Bluestreak belly crawled toward Prowl.

Prowl pushed himself up to his knees, databursting that he had a survivor and needed a medic immediately. He watched as the dented red chevron appeared, followed by a dirty, cut and battered frame. Bluestreak’s doorwings were in bad shape, one hanging limp and dislocated. Prowl reached out a hand to help, and ended up with a youngling plowing into him.

It took a moment, but he managed to keep his balance and carefully wrap his arms around the sobbing youngling. “Hush. Hush now. It’s over,” Prowl murmured, careful of all the damage. He glanced to the side as a fellow officer, a large, sturdy mech came halfway up the pile of wreckage and reached a hand out to help Prowl down.

“Come, young one,” Prowl said, standing and pulling Bluestreak up with him. “The medic is waiting.” And indeed he was. White and red, and already muttering colorful curses as knowledgeable optics catalogued the obvious damage on Bluestreak.

“He is in my charge,” Prowl stated clearly.

The medic nodded. “On the stretcher,” though his voice softened as he looked at Bluestreak. “I’m Ratchet. I’m going to fix you up, then get you and Prowl out of here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Bluestreak agreed, settling himself, with Prowl’s help, onto the stretcher.

Prowl crouched, and let the youngling cling to his hand. “Shall I tell you about Iacon since it will be our new home?”

Bluestreak nodded, silent tears sliding across his face. Prowl spoke of the pleasant things in Iacon. The parks, the museums, the open markets. Ratchet noted the library was without compare while he worked to stabilize Bluestreak for transportation. The doorwing in particular. The sedative the medic gave Bluestreak helped calm him, and by the time they were ready to move out, the youngling was recharging.

Prowl found himself still holding Bluestreak’s hands, petting them lightly as he stared at the passing landscapes, and tried not to feel the loss too acutely.

~ | ~

Bluestreak stood in the conference room, staring out the tall windows that overlooked Iacon. The city was bright and bustling, and down there somewhere even more reporters were waiting to talk to him. Prowl wasn’t letting them, but they were hard to dodge.

Bluestreak didn’t want anything to do with them. He was being touted as ‘the last Praxian’ when he so clearly wasn’t. He was in a room with a few dozen that very moment. Not only that, but he was so mixed up and confused. He _knew_ what had really happened, but his nightmares told a different story. Smokescreen said it was trauma. Prowl said he would be fine, to just remind himself of reality. Bluestreak wasn’t so sure.

“If everyone could be seated,” Prowl said as he entered.

Bluestreak didn’t move. He had no business in affairs of state.

“Bluestreak,” Prowl called softly.

Bluestreak obeyed because he owed Prowl everything. He took a seat at the large table beside his caretaker, and vaguely listened.

“If there are more of our people out there, they are not coming forward,” Prowl began. “Sentinel Prime has asked that we choose a representative from Praxus to take Platinum’s place on the Council.

“You,” Smokescreen said instantly.

“That would not be-“ Prowl was cut off by shouts of agreement. Bluestreak stared dully at the mechs, wishing they’d stop yelling.

“Please.” Silence descended again, and Prowl continued. “I have other duties.”

“You would be the best for the job,” a mostly red and dark grey mech said, doorwings shifting to emphasize his faith in Prowl. “You already hold the Prime’s audial. You have a ranked position in the government.”

“You aren’t corrupt,” someone else said.

More noise. More agreeing. More Prowl debating. Bluestreak watched, a headache taking root and making his processors throb in time to the beat of his pump. “Just accept,” he muttered.

The room went completely silent, then Prowl touched Bluestreak’s forearm. “Blue?”

“You’re the best for the job.” Bluestreak shrugged. “Maybe if you’re busy with other stuff someone else can handle the meetings and stuff, and bring you the information?”

Prowl smiled softly, and all around the table mechs were agreeing. Two even volunteered to help Prowl out. “Very well.” Prowl gave Bluestreak’s arm a last squeeze, then stood. “My first suggestion then, would be to begin collecting, or even creating logs of Praxian history and culture. There are very few of us, but I would one day, once this rebellion has been stopped, like to rebuild our city. Even living here, I’ve been assured that Praxus itself is still ours.”

Bluestreak felt the hope in the room like a lash across his tender, healing doorwings. He smiled up at Prowl because he knew that’s what he was supposed to do, but he didn’t feel it. He didn’t _want_ to go back to that tomb. Not ever.

~ | ~

Orion sat at his desk, reading and compiling the information on the fall of Praxus. Silent tears slipped unchecked down his cheeks from time to time.

After Vos, _something_ like this had seemed inevitable. He could hardly bear the images. An entire beautiful city destroyed in petty revenge. Orion had been to Praxus once. He’d spent an entire day in the Crystal Gardens, and one of his own most prized possessions was a small, gifted crystal from a vendor that’d been amused by Orion’s wonder.

That poor mech, Orion thought, more hot tears blearing his vision. Was he one of the bodies in this image of the shattered Gardens? Blue fingers stroked the image, his spark squeezed tight at the senselessness of it all.

The next article was as bad as the rest. Seekers had flown into Praxus from every direction, peppering the ground with bombs and laser fire, heedless of who might be a victim. They had quickly taken over the city, Decepticon ground troops moving in, slaughtering remorselessly. They had captured Praxus’ wall cannons, the city’s great defenders, and turned them inward.

They had not stopped until everything was destroyed.

Orion put the datapad down, hiding his face in his hands again just to help muffle the sobs. He wasn’t the only mech so affected, and felt no shame for his grief, but he was never going to get done with this task. Then he felt guilty for just wanting it over with. Each one of those anonymous mechs had been living, vibrant sparks.

Ratchet had mentioned the destruction, briefly, during their last very short conversation. The medic was exhausted, refusing to leave Praxus until he was sure that the one youngling they’d found truly was the only survivor.

Orion missed him. Fiercely. Wished he could just see Ratchet. Hold him for a few precious moments so he could _feel_ the mech alive in his arms. He also wished he could be naïve enough to believe that the vengeance wrought had slaked the Vosians’ bloodlust, but he knew differently.

Praxus was the big story, but all over Cybertron the unrest was growing. Even Iacon wasn’t immune.

~ | ~

Starscream fluttered his wings at his trine mates, grinning as Skywarp flicked one wing back.

“You’re both idiots,” Thundercracker said, pretending to be absorbed in buffing the polish into his own wing better.

Their new brands marked them, and Starscream was proud. He was also very nearly giddy. They were officially Decepticons now. Starscream hadn’t liked it at first, but Megatron had brushed aside his concern over the enemies’ name for them. Let the true deceivers name them, he’d said. Then he’d tasked Starscream with a mission, that, whether he survived or not, would be remembered for all time.

Starscream intended to survive. He’d take the glory while living, than you very much. All the better to enjoy it that way.

“You’re just nervous,” Skywarp said, flashing his wings at Acid Storm, who just rolled his optics, and physically turned Icestorm’s head away.

Thundercracker huffed air through his vents. “Slagging right I am.”

Starscream reached out, stroking along the top edge of Thundercracker’s wing. “I’ll be fine.”

“Trine. Should be with you.”

Starscream smiled, and ignoring the fact that they had a large number of grounders as well as Seekers watching them, pulled Thundercracker into a heated kiss. “A promise,” he smiled. “To be finished later.”

“Ooo! Me too!” Skywarp shoved his way in, all but tackling Starscream for a kiss that was more play than passion.

Starscream chuckled, then set his trine mate back by his shoulders. “Acid Storm,” he called. The bright green Seeker lifted his chin, catching the difference in Starscream’s stance, and ending his own play with his trine. “You know what to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“May the wind carry you on fair currents,” Sunstorm intoned.

Starscream smirked, gave them a jaunty salute, then took a few steps to launch.

~

The hard -make that fun- part had been in flying in low and fast enough. Security Forces were alerted, but they had no flyers that could match Starscream. He wove through the tall buildings of Iacon at ridiculous speeds, darting under pedestrian walkways, and whipping around corners that cracked the transparasteel windows as he passed.

He blew his way into the Senate building, shot the guards that fumbled for their weapons in shock, and strode with helm held high right onto the Senate floor.

Starscream did a slow turn, expression haughty, grip relaxed on the twin, specialized blasters in his hands. “Greetings, corrupt filth. I bring you a message from Lord Megatron.”

“What is the meaning of this?!” Sentinel Prime demanded, voice booming in the domed arena.

“As I said,” Starscream smiled sweetly. “I bring you a message from Lord Megatron.”

“And just what is this… message?” one of the senators asked.

“He would like you all to die.” Starscream raised the blasters, turning and firing. The tiny grenades stuck wherever they struck, walls, seats, mechs. He intentionally put three across Sentinel Prime’s chest, laughing as the mech frantically tried to tear them off. One last shot was made to the roof over Starscream’s head.

“This is madness!”

“I am afraid,” Starscream purred, “that it is you all that are the madness. Purging you is the first step in healing our world.” He launched as more guards charged into the room, then detonated the miniature bombs.

The concussive force slammed through Starscream, but he cleared the roof. Skywarp was suddenly there, arms wrapping around Starscream before he could fall into the inferno raging below them.

“Hello, gorgeous. Come here often?”

“Aft,” Starscream croaked. “Get us out of here.”

Skywarp snickered, then the world twisted as he teleported them back to safety. “Gonna go help TC and the others. He said to remind you to sit until your… whatever. Just stay here ‘til we get back.”

Starscream shook his helm as his trine mate disappeared in a purple flash, then stumbled to the nearest seat.

“Status?” Soundwave asked without looking up from the console he had half a dozen cables connecting himself to.

“Gleeful.”

The red visor flickered. “Functionality?”

Starscream snickered. “Minor charring. Nothing my self-repair won’t have handled by tomorrow. Gyros are still spinning from the blast, but I’m rather enjoying that. Almost like being drunk. Have you ever been drunk, Soundwave?”

Soundwave did not answer, and Starscream left him be. He knew the mech was monitoring the half dozen energon raids Megatron had orchestrated, and he would not be the reason one of his trine mates, or any of their fellow Vosians that had straggled in to join the Cause, were injured.

Knowing he genuinely was of no further use, and feeling quite accomplished for the day already, Starscream let himself drift into recharge. He’d be better equipped to debrief the Seekers and speak with Megatron with a little rest to let his body recover.

~ | ~

Sideswipe was trying to project calm into Sunstreaker as his brother prowled back and forth in restless agitation. His efforts were wasted the moment Red Alert slipped hurriedly into the dingy motel room.

Sunstreaker whirled around. “I am so slagging tired of this!”

Red Alert’s expression flattened, and he did not open his portion of their bond. “I am sorry you do not like your new jobs-“

“Slag the new jobs, Red!” Sunstreaker shouted. “Job’s not the problem! What the mechs in charge want of us _is_!”

Red Alert sighed, and walked across the room to take a seat by Sideswipe. Sideswipe eyed him, and kept his arms crossed over his chest. “Lovely. You too then?” He heaved another put-upon sigh. “Security Force officers have always worn a badge.”

“Not _that_ one!” Sunstreaker snapped, jabbing a finger at the red brand on Red Alert’s chest. “I don’t want one of _those_! Those stand for the Council. For the Prime. For the slaggers that attacked Vos and killed sparklings!”

“You’ll remember that the Decepticons stormed Praxus?”

Sideswipe snorted, breaking his silence. “Com’on, Red. You’ve got your audial to the ground on everything. You know as well as us that there were no ‘Cons on the ground in Praxus. Starscream led the Vosians in a strike against the slagger that ordered Vos destroyed.”

“There is absolutely no proof that Senator Platinum ordered that,” Red Alert argued. “The general that led that massacre accepted his responsibility, and has been punished.”

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe snorted in tandem.

“Not wearing that stupid mark!” Sunstreaker said, crossing his arms over his chest, body language one of absolute finality. “We have _friends_ that wear the ‘Con brand. _We_ should be wearing the ‘Con brand, or have you forgotten what the Senate’s greed did to all three of us?”

“We have a new Prime, Sunny,” Red Alert said, trying to reason with them. “The Council is not the Senate. They uphold tradition, not clutch after everything in greed.”

Sideswipe shook his helm. “Even you don’t believe that.”

Red Alert bristled, popping back to his feet to pace away, fists clenched. “I am _loyal_ to my office. I took an _oath_ to uphold the laws, work for the betterment of all Cybertronians. The Decepticons are _not_ law-abiding, nor have they any care for the lives they destroy.”

Sideswipe gave a lazy shrug, designed ever so carefully long ago to irritate his brothers, and it worked as perfectly as ever on Red Alert. “Then they’re no different from the Autobots.”

“We’re not branding ourselves!” Sunstreaker threw in as Red Alert glowered at them.

“Sorry, bro. It’s a deal breaker.” Sideswipe shook his helm as Red Alert opened his mouth to argue. “If our only choice is be an Autobot, or be a Decepticon, then I’m voting purple.”

The fight drained out of Red Alert, and he sank into a chair, hands clutching at his helm as if fighting a headache. He probably was. Their arguments were never easy on him. “Fine. Don’t take the brand. We will continue as we have been. I make enough to keep us all fueled until you can find something to supplement that doesn’t involve _any_ faction insignias. Agreed?” He looked up, optics pale in stress.

Sideswipe felt bad for that. “Agreed,” he said softly, pushing against the block on the bond. “Come here, love. I’m sorry to stress you out.”

Sunstreaker’s mouth pressed into a tight line, but he did an admirable job of not expressing how much he so wasn’t going to apologize for anything when he was right. He did, however, move to the berth after Red Alert sat down next to Sideswipe again. “All this crazy slag just needs to end so we can have our lives back.”

Red Alert nodded, hooking his arms through both Sideswipe’s and Sunstreaker’s to pull them tighter to his sides. _Please just tell me you both still love me._

“Oh, sweetspark,” Sideswipe purred, shifting to wrap his arms around both his brothers, squeezing Red Alert between Sunstreaker and himself. “Of course we love you.”

Sunstreaker relented completely then, letting go of the anger to nuzzle Red Alert’s helm. _Yeah. Love you. Never a question of that._

“I’m just trying to do my best.”

“We know,” Sideswipe said. He did. So did Sunstreaker, but as he’d said, Autobot brands were a deal breaker. They couldn’t side with the original bad guys, even if the new… not so good guys weren’t _that_ much better.

~ | ~

Ratchet’s first stop had been Orion’s apartment. Finding it empty at that hour of the night was… not all that surprising. When he got to the Archives and found only one lone mech working a late shift, he frowned. What was more troublesome was that the mech knew Orion, but hadn’t seen him in quite some time.

Ratchet looked a few more places, comm calls not being responded to. He ended up at Wheeljack’s apartment the next morning, pacing his best friend’s lounge floor in worry. “It’s been months since I last heard from him. Not since just after the Senate disaster.”

“I hate to ask this, but… Yer sure he didn’t decide to call it quits, and this is his glitched, cowardly way of leavin’ ya?”

Ratchet stopped pacing to glower at Wheeljack. “He wouldn’t do that.” He started pacing again. “I can’t find any records of him. I’m worried.”

“He might’ve dropped off the grid to join the war effort?” Wheeljack suggested. “Lots of mechs doin’ that.”

Ratchet shook his helm, and plopped into the seat across the conversation table from Wheeljack. His voice was low, hushed as if telling a secret that might be overheard. “No. I mean, I can find _no_ record of him ever existing.”

Wheeljack’s optic ridge arched. “Oh?”

“I thought maybe he’d been hurt somewhere, so I ran a search of the medical patients’ records. There’s never been an Orion Pax. I even dug out my academy notes from when I met him. His file log is gone. The one I entered in _myself_ , Jack. I was graded on his treatment! Where is it?”

Wheeljack frowned, helm fins glowing a dim blue. “That’s really strange.”

“I don’t know what to do, and I have to go to Polyhex tomorrow.”

“Fraggin’ Primus! They’re sendin’ ya to Polyhex?!”

Ratchet smirked. “Become a medic; see Cybertron.”

Wheeljack shook his helm. “Well, if I only gotcha for one day, then I guess I’d better call in and let the labs know I’ll be out today.”

“You don’t need to keep me company, Jack. Your work’s important.”

Wheeljack waved a hand at Ratchet. “Text only. Already sent. Whatcha wanna do today? There places ya knew Orion hung out at that ya wanna go poke at?”

Ratchet smiled. “Have I told you lately what an awesome friend you are?”

Helm fins flashing, Wheeljack laughed. “No. Been neglectin’ yer hero worship pretty bad of late.”


	4. Part Three

Thundercracker was, by design, quite capable of taking the force of some pretty impressive concussive blasts.

If it weren’t for the sheer skill needed to rocket into Iacon at top speed -something no one but Starscream, possibly Sunstorm, could have done- Thundercracker would have been the best mech to detonate those charges in the Senate.

Therefore, when the explosion on the ground quite a ways under him as he was harassing the highest levels of the Towers with the other Seekers, rocked him to his core, he nearly stalled out from the surprise alone. A number of Seekers _were_ knocked right out of the sky.

Decepticon comm lines went ballistic. Mechs on the ground were screaming. Megatron was demanding answers. One lone mech, panting audible as he ran for his life, replied, //Idiot fired at some mech. Hit the energon. It’s coming down. Run!//

//Air command, dive! My trine with me! Do _not_ move, Megatron!//

Thundercracker dove, cursing vividly, and trying to catch up with Starscream. //Slow down, Starscream! You’ll kill him rescuing him.//

They whipped along the falling debris, Thundercracker transforming when Starscream did. Skywarp appeared beside him, and flashed a bright grin.

//We get one chance at this,// Starscream said. //Skywarp, take Soundwave. Soundwave. Be ready. Megatron-//

//I’m going to rust waiting for you to get here,// Megatron cut in.

Starscream dumped speed, angling his body vertically. Thundercracker followed suit, glancing up. “Primus.” Ancient, huge, beautiful, and blotting out the sky as it fell toward them. Then Thundercracker had no time to worry. He and Starscream caught Megatron between them, turbines shrieking.

Thundercracker thought his spark might gutter out a few times as Starscream led them through gaps that shouldn’t have been large enough, but always managed to be _just_ wide enough to escape. They shot upward, joining all the other Seekers with the mechs they could save.

Beneath them, the Towers crumbled.

//Decepticons,// Megatron broadcast on all channels. //Retreat. Find your ways home quickly.// He growled, the sound low and angry by Thundercracker’s audial. “I do believe it’s time for a new mod. I dislike needing rescued.”

Starscream had the nerve to snicker. “You’d look handsome with wings, leader.”

“I am in no mood, Starscream. Turn me so I can see.”

Thundercracker gave Starscream a look over Megatron’s head, and got wide optics in return. “Forgive him, my lord. He’s thrill drunk from the flight.”

Megatron frowned. “This was a catastrophic failure. The resources we’ve just lost thanks to one careless act are incalculable. The repercussions will be just as bad. We’ve lost troops. We’ve lost energon that would have fed entire _cities_! And those losses will cost us even more of our soldiers.”

“I’m sorry,” Starscream said, contrite. “Thundercracker is right, I was foolishly exhilarated from the flight, and did not think.”

Mollified, Megatron nodded. “Your skills, both of you,” he said, glancing at Thundercracker, “saved lives that would have been lost. Mine included.” He sighed. “My anger is not directed at you.”

Thundercracker relaxed a little after that, and the rest of the flight back to Kaon was made in relative silence.

~ | ~

Optimus Prime’s sad optics took in the destruction. The once beautiful, glittering Towers were nothing. Broken and shattered like the poor sparks caught inside them. When would it stop? He hoped he could prevent another disaster like this, but he didn’t know how.

Muster an army, of course, but how was more violence going to solve anything? Optimus wanted to speak with Megatron, but the Council was dead set against that idea. Could one even reason with such wanton destruction?

Optimus cycled his vents, then entered the building set aside as an emergency hospital. He couldn’t help the flare in his spark that he might see Ratchet, then chastised himself for the selfishness. He was here to see the survivors, to - as the Council said - be a beacon, a symbol of hope. They also said that he would feel more like the Prime if he were to _act_ like one.

Acting like a Prime meant visiting wounded, letting himself be seen and adored. That didn’t sit well with Optimus, but the Matrix, _Primus_ , had chosen him. How could he not do all he could to live up to that sacred duty? That honor?

Optimus took a few minutes with each mech capable of speaking. He silently held the hands of those that were not. Some asked for prayers. Some beamed, overjoyed to meet him. Some just cried.

Only one sat furiously rigid, gold optics burning pale in his anger. “I am Mirage, last of the House of Silver Waves. I swear my fealty to my Prime, Optimus. I will serve in any way you wish, just let me serve. Let me help you destroy the Decepticons!” He paused a moment, optics dropping. “And please forgive my not kneeling as is proper.”

Optimus half-sat on the edge of Mirage’s berth, hands enclosing one of the noble’s. Silver Wave. One of the oldest families on Cybertron, lineage lost to time despite the meticulous record-keeping of generations. Their high, shining Tower overlooking the Mercury Sea. A claim only two other noble families could make.

Well. No longer. There were very few survivors. Most of the mechs in the makeshift hospital were servants and bystanders. Mirage must not have been home when the Towers fell. There were, perhaps, other nobles still out there, but Mirage was the only one found so far.

“I would never turn a mech away,” Optimus said, voice measured. He was a little concerned with Mirage’s rage, understandable though it was. It was not the motivation he wanted mechs to have. War was a horrible necessity now. It was nothing he wanted anyone embracing. Revenge would make them no better than the Decepticons. “I will have-“

“I have an electro-disruptor.” Mirage cut in. “I can become invisible. I know I am not a terribly strong fighter, but I have some skill with a rifle. A sword. I can be very quiet.” Mirage clutched at Optimus’ hands, optics wide.

Optimus nodded, not wanting the mech to overtax himself in his desperation to convince him of his value. “I just met the head of Special Operations yesterday. Recover well, and I will have him speak with you,” he soothed. “I promise.”

Mirage nodded, lying back when Optimus applied gentle pressure. “I will avenge them.”

Optimus gave his hand a squeeze, making a note to share his concerns with Jazz when he spoke to him about the noble.

~ | ~

Ratchet looked up as a grim-faced, grime-covered Knight rushed into the emergency medical station. He took in the crushed form of what was once a -probably- white flyer in the Knight’s arms. “That one,” Ratchet said, pointing to a free berth.

He shouted for another medic, handing over the welder he’d been using, then rushed over to the new patient.

“He’s alive,” the Knight said.

“Or he’d be grey,” Ratchet muttered, tossing aside the rag he’d used to clean the previous mech’s blood from his hands.

He was still elbow-deep, the Knight hovering close, but silently when a new mech entered. “I’m looking for a Ratchet. Is there a Ratchet in here?”

“What?” Ratchet demanded, not looking away from his patient.

“Ratchet?”

“Obviously. Are you bleeding out? Because I’m a little busy here with someone that is.”

The mech had moved cautiously closer. “No, sir. I’m your security escort.”

“Since when the frag have I needed a security escort? I’ve been in combat zones since graduation.” Ratchet clamped a line, and pointed to a tray by the Knight. “Give me that patch mesh there. Good, now put your finger here. No! Here! Where I’m pointing. Do not move.”

“Sir. I’m-“

“Why do you keep calling me sir?” Ratchet asked, cutting the mesh, and carefully fitting it along the split in the hose.

“I- Uh.” The mech sputtered to a stop. “Rank?”

Ratchet snorted. “Whatever.” He swatted the Knight’s hand out of his way, and cursed as he had to dig for the next leak. The poor flyer was already so broken. He hated having to rummage around in his internals.

“Sir, I’m to escort you safely to Iacon.”

“I’m not going to Iacon. Or have you somehow managed to miss the fact that an entire city fell out of the fragging sky?”

“I’m here on direct order from the Prime. I can’t return without you.”

Ratchet pinched the broken hose, and looked directly as his ‘escort’. “Do you see me trying to save a life here?! The Prime’s a fragging idiot if he thinks I’m just going to hand his spark off to Primus and dash off. I have _work_ to do here!” He demanded another patch, which the Knight handed over obediently, and returned to his patient.

“I- No, I wouldn’t expect you to just-“

“You need to find somewhere else to be,” Ratchet interrupted. “I need to concentrate.”

“I’ll, uh, just sit over there until you’re done then.”

“Save yourself the trouble. I’m not leaving until we know there are no more survivors.” Ratchet was hard-pressed to keep his voice down. “I’m not going to stop important work to go be a maintenance drone for the Prime and a bunch of prissy politicians.”

“Sir, I will allow you to finish with your patient. Then we’re leaving,” the escort said, shoulders going back, spinal struts stiffening for a fight.”

Ratchet glanced back with narrow optics. “We’ll see about that.”

~ | ~

Ratchet growled at the cube his abductor- oh sorry, _escort_ held out for him. He was _not_ happy about being bound while trying to catch a quick nap, then dragged, literally kicking and screaming, to a transport.

“I do apologize, but I have orders from Optimus Prime. He _ordered_ me. _Personally_.” Rollbar heaved a sigh. “Will you please refuel? If nothing else you’ll have the energy to try running when we stop.”

Ratchet snorted, and snatched the ration cube. “ _Should_ lead you on a merry chase,” he muttered, then downed the energon. At least his hands were free again. Once the transport was moving too fast for Ratchet to risk diving out of it, Rollbar had released him. Ratchet wasn’t against showing up for his meeting with the new Prime in cuffs as a sign of his protest, but it _did_ limit movement, and Primus forbid they were attacked with his wrists still bound together.

“You know most mechs consider it an honor to meet the Prime.”

Ratchet snorted, drained the cube, and continued to stare out at the passing view. “I have better things to do than pander to politicians.”

Rollbar wisely held his peace the rest of the way to Iacon. When the transport came to a stop, Ratchet considered running. Just to irritate the mech. He didn’t actually believe he’d get very far. He dismissed the idea altogether when the door slid open to reveal a serious-faced Praxian waiting at parade rest.

He looked like more fun to bait than Rollbar. Ratchet had a grand time of it too as he was led to the Prime’s office, then even more as this ‘Prowl’ introduced him to Optimus Prime.

Ratchet let his gaze rake defiantly over Optimus, blatantly finding this new Prime wanting. “So. The frag you have me hauled here for?” Ratchet demanded.

Prowl sputtered, but Prime laughed, holding up a hand to stop Prowl from chastising Ratchet. “No. No, Prowl, this is exactly why I wanted Ratchet here.”

Ratchet frowned. “You say that like you know me, but I _know_ I don’t know you. I make a habit of avoid politics and the whores for power it breeds.”

Prowl’s gasp might just have sucked out half the air in the room. “You-! How-!”

“Dismissed, Prowl,” Prime said, voice still tinged with amusement.

“Sir, I really must-“

“Dismissed.”

Prowl’s mouth clamped shut, but he nodded, and after an abbreviated bow, left, doorwings all a-twitch with irritation.

Ratchet watched him go, then glanced back at the Prime. “Bit tightly wound, isn’t he?”

Prime gestured to a set of comfortable looking chairs, then crossed to sit in one. “Prowl takes his duties quite seriously, and is very good at his job.”

Ratchet eyed the chair for a moment, then dropped into it, crossing an ankle over his opposite knee. “So. Why am I here? You do realize there are mechs dying out there right now that I could be saving?”

Prime’s optics dimmed, deep voice sounding sad when he spoke. “The search of Altihex’s ruins has been finished. There are no more life sign readings, and Decepticon troops have been seen skirting the area. We simply do not have the troops to protect the rescue workers. The Council has ruled-“

“You’re the frelling _Prime_ ,” Ratchet cut in. “You telling me the Council, a bunch of greedy bastards more afraid for their own rusted afts than the people they are _supposed_ to serve, decided the lives that might still be out there aren’t worth the risk? To what?! Where’s the risk here?”

“I am Prime because a single Decepticon destroyed most of the Senate and killed Sentinel. Their fears are not entirely unfounded.”

“And of course their lives are more important than the innocents, the younglings and sparklings, the day to day workers and scholars and scientists of Altihex?”

“No,” Prime said. “No one’s life is more important than another’s, but even the rescue workers did not protest, Ratchet. Clean up efforts will have to wait, but there are no more lives to be saved, and I need your help.”

Ratchet frowned into the Prime’s sad, steady gaze for a few long minutes, then huffed. “And what does the chosen bearer of Primus need me for?” Ill humor and contempt, but Ratchet didn’t care. If not Altihex, then the next city that became a war zone. That’s where he belonged.

“I need my old friend for one,” Prime said softly.

“I don’t know you.”

Prime slumped a little. “You don’t recognize me at all?” he asked.

Ratchet arched an optic ridge, then gave the mech a thorough inspection, even daring a few passive scans. He shook his helm. “Maybe if I did a few more powerful scans, but no. And you’re kind of distinctive. I’d know if I’d seen you before.”

“We met some time ago. I was injured. A crate wasn’t as full as I thought it was, and the contents shifted. I fell against a shelving unit-“

“And it fell on you back,” Ratchet finished, optics wide, mouth open. “Orion,” he breathed.

Prime nodded, and retracted his face mask. “Still don’t recognize me?”

Ratchet looked again, searching, but still had to shake his head no. “Guess you got that reframing after all.”

“That… isn’t quite how it happened, but yes.” Prime paused. “Ratchet, I do need your help. And I do know you would rather be out there helping others, but you’re the best medic I know.”

Suddenly Ratchet _could_ see Orion. A hint in the way Prime spoke, so earnest. “Which, if it were true, is also a reason I should be out there. You’re Prime now. There must be a dozen medics better than me here.”

Prime shook his head. “I am surrounded by mechs that take every word I say as gospel. If I were to say what a lovely shade of green the sky was today, a dozen mechs would jump to agree it was the best shade of verdigris they’d ever witnessed!” He huffed and slouched, and Ratchet smiled, able to see a little more Orion.

“I’ve tried to tell them what’s wrong too, but they wave it off. Say it’s just the Matrix settling still. No one’s taking me seriously except when I’m fighting, and even then Prowl’s the one with all the tactical knowledge, so he’s really the one in charge.”

“So… You’re Prime, but have no power?” Ratchet asked.

“No. I mean, yes. Kind of, but that’s not what troubles me. I could exert my will if I needed to, but the truth is that Prowl knows battles very well, and the Council knows politics. The priests know the Office of the Prime, so I don’t mind deferring to their wisdom. It’s that no one actually _listens_.”

Ratchet shook his helm. “And I’ll listen?”

“You always have,” Prime said, smiling.

Ratchet sighed, shifting in the chair to look more fully at Prime. “Ok. Lay it out for me. What is it that’s troubling you.”

“The Matrix hurts,” Prime said. “It hurts all the time, never stops. I do as the priests say, but it’s just not getting any better.”

“And what do the priests say?”

“That it will. That I need to give myself over to the interfacing they arrange with the Council-approved mechs. That I need to meditate. I do this. As much as I can, though it’s difficult to be with those bland, passionless mechs. Then when I recharge, there are these… dreams. And I’m,” Prime sighed, tone sad again, “so very changed. I was never a fighter, but now I can hold my own with Ironhide. He’s one of the best warriors we’ve got. A weapons specialist and highly trained guardian.

“Ratchet, I _want_ to help Cybertron. I think I can, but I’m afraid of what’s happening to me. I feel constantly out of sorts. I know what is required of me, and I do it, willingly, but I should be… more. I’m so unworthy of this, and so honored, and yet there are times I long for my former life, and I feel so angry that it’s gone.”

Prime paused, cycling his respiration, visibly calming himself. Ratchet reached out, unable not to.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Optimus whispered. “It was selfish and self-serving to bring you here, and I apologize for that. If you want to leave, you may.”

Ratchet considered for a few moments. He knew that Altihex was a lost cause, he just hated admitting it. He could help Orion- Optimus Prime, then he could work, knowing his old friend was safe and stable, and working toward ending the war from the political side while he was out there cleaning up the messes it caused. “I’ll have to do some research.”

“I have everything ready to instate you as my personal medical officer.” Optimus paused, turning his hand to clutch at Ratchet’s. “Please stay?”

Ratchet suppressed a shiver as Optimus leaned closer, noting how he’d changed from title to mech in his mind. “Optimus…”

“They don’t let me choose a lover of my own until the Matrix readings have settled, but with your help…” Optimus trailed off.

“They would never approve me.”

“I hate them,” Optimus whispered. “They just lay there.” Ratchet shivered as warm air from Optimus’ vents washed over his audial. “Nothing like you. You’ve haunted my dreams and fantasies since that night we shared.”

“They would _never_ approve me,” Ratchet repeated, and tore himself away. He stood, respiration fast as he fought his arousal. He’d missed Orion terribly, but Optimus truly was a different mech. Maybe his spark was the same, but he had a far different life now. “I can present myself for that approval, but the best thing I can do to help you now is research everything I can get my hands on.”

Optimus shifted back to the Prime between one spark pulse and the next. “Of course.” He rose. “I’ll show you where your quarters are, and then to the archives if you like?”

Ratchet smiled at the mention of the archives. “Still a librarian?”

Optimus chuckled, the tension in the air clearing as he did. “Always.” He gestured toward the door. “Tell me about your adventures?”

Ratchet grinned, and followed.

~ | ~

Soundwave took a step back from Megatron, pausing the repairs again as his leader swore vividly at the latest report.

“What are they thinking?!” Megatron bellowed, this time launching to his feet to pace. “Those are not military mechs they’re abusing! Starscream!”

“Yes, my lord?”

“I want you to take as many flight capable, _loyal_ Decepticons as you can find in the next two minutes, and gather the scrap that dare wear my brand. Bring them to me. I did not start a revolution so those I’m trying to raise up could subjugate others!”

Starscream spun on his heel, motioning his trine to follow. Soundwave listened to the call go out, followed rapidly by Starscream’s orders.

Megatron paced a little more, then flung himself back into the chair. Soundwave gave him a moment, then returned to continue his repairs.

“You’ve taken the lowest of the low, already violent mechs, and given them permission to fight and kill,” Drift said. “Why is it a surprise that they’re out there doing what they’ve always done?”

Soundwave glanced at the smaller mech, irritated as Megatron growled again. He’d like to finish his repairs. He _did_ have other things to do after all.

Megatron stayed seated and still this time, ever indulgent of Drift. “There is right and wrong. Killing to survive is one thing. If it is your life, or some other mech’s, then you do what you must, and the stronger shall survive.” He tipped his helm, allowing Soundwave to replace the temporary patch with sealant. “However, that is not the case here. Those are civilian mechs who have now lost everything they had. They have nothing we need to take, and they are not a threat to our cause. In fact, they have now become the very sort of mech the government will ignore and that I will protect.”

Drift smirked. “You’re such an idealist.”

Megatron smirked back. “Revolutionary,” he corrected, and Soundwave resisted the urge to sigh at their idea of flirting. Megatron sobered quickly, emotions settling back to a disgruntled frustration. “However, we are not behaving much better than our enemies. I think it may be time.”

Soundwave stiffened, hands stilling.

“Time for what?” Drift asked.

“Negotiations.”

“Yes, Soundwave,” Megatron said. “This new Prime is young, compassionate. I would like to speak with him myself.”

Drift didn’t like that idea any better than Soundwave. “You mean give them a chance to ambush and kill you!”

Megatron shook his helm. “No. My own army commits atrocities. We must end this while there is still hope to salvage and rebuild our world.” He looked up at Soundwave. “Ravage is your best, yes?”

“Affirmative.”

“Then we will send him to the Prime with the message that I wish to speak to him, and him alone.”

“You are _not_ going alone to meet with-“

“Drift,” Megatron said warningly.

“No! That’s stupid! They could set up any kind of ambush! They don’t want to make a deal with you! They want to crush our little rebellion, and taking you out would do it.”

“Would you give up so easily at my death, Drift? You aren’t half the mech I thought, if so.” Drift’s mouth thinned to a tight, angry line.

“Possibility of ambush: high,” Soundwave said.

“Which is why those of you I trust would come with me. Assuming the Prime even agrees to meet, you will stay out of sight until needed.” Megatron reached into his subspace, inserting the datachip he removed into a slot on his forearm. “Ravage will take this, in secret, to the Prime.”

Soundwave took the chip when Megatron held it up to him. “Yes, Lord Megatron.”

“Tell him to use all caution, and approach respectfully, but when Prime is alone. Abort the mission if he is discovered or threatened beforehand.”

Soundwave bowed his head, tucking the chip away. He would look at the information himself as soon as Megatron’s repairs were complete, then send Ravage on his way. He did not, however, hold any faith in this plan succeeding, and began making his own plans to protect Megatron during the proposed meeting.

~ | ~

Optimus paced, rubbing at his chest. It still _hurt_ , and he was so angry. Furious really. Probably not the right attitude to be going into this meeting with, but Altihex wasn’t so far in the past yet. Nor was Praxus, the Towers, or any of the other attacks.

He tried to rein his temper in, tried to deny the anger more of a foothold. This was his chance for peace when absolutely _nothing_ else was going his way. He’d very nearly killed the messenger Megatron had sent. It had only been a few weeks after Altihex, and finding a large, black cybercat-looking mech in his private berth chambers had been quite a shock. Luckily, he’d realized the Decepticon was crouching in submissive fear, not ready to spring at him.

It’d taken Optimus days after receiving the message to tell even Ratchet. He spoke to each of the mechs he trusted most first, Prowl being last, then showed the Council.

Ratchet had said to take the meeting, but have backup waiting close by. Ironhide had frowned, said what a great trick it’d be to lure Prime into the open for an ambush, then said he’d be backup if Prime decided to do it, which probably wasn’t half a bad idea and could be their chance at peace. Prowl had been slower to respond, agreeing that an ambush was probable given Megatron’s history, and his tendency toward guerrilla warfare, but that if a peaceful solution could be found, then that would be more pragmatic than continuing to waste dwindling resources on a war.

The Council, conversely, had been dead set against it from the moment Optimus opened his mouth. He’d wasted a month debating the merits, and then finally snapped. He was the slagging Prime, and if he was the wartime leader, then he was in command. Prowl backed that statement with a legal quote, and Prime had notified Megatron of his agreement to meet.

So now here he waited, praying it went well so he could go home, calm down, maybe spend some time with Ratchet. He had to forcibly slam the door on the thoughts of what sort of time he’d like to spend with Ratchet. His spark had not settled yet, but it would. If Megatron were at all reasonable, on any level, they could set up a cease fire today, and work on fixing things over the coming months. Then Optimus' spark _would_ settle. He wouldn't constantly be staring into the face of destruction for the people he was chosen to lead. After that happened, he could have Ratchet. He’d be able to choose his own partners.

Well, partner. He only wanted the one, and without the raids and battles-

“Prime,” a deep voice said.

Optimus snapped back to the present, facing Megatron. He squared his shoulders, gathering his resolve and determination to have peace before speaking. “Megatron. Thank you for meeting with me.”

Megatron’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Thank you,” he said smoothly, keeping a safe distance back. He _was_ , as agreed upon, lacking the large arm cannon that had become such a feared part of his silhouette.

“I propose a cease fire. Something that will allow everyone some measure of peace while we discuss how to make that peace permanent.”

Megatron eyed Prime, pacing- _prowling_ back and forth a little behind the invisible line he’d chosen. “I will agree to that if energon is distributed to the lowest caste in equal amounts to what you and your Council enjoy.”

“I only consume what I need,” Optimus said. “There is a shortage.”

Megatron’s optics narrowed. “And the quality will be equal as well.”

Prime tipped his helm, anger flaring. “There will be no more raids.”

“Raids would be unnecessary if-“ Megatron cut off with a shout, stumbling back from the sudden shot. “Betrayer!”

Prime twisted around, trying to see who fired. //Ironhide! Who fired?!//

There was another shot, then another, then a barrage as plasma bolts flew from behind Megatron as well. Megatron had been hit a few times, and only the shock of pain as Optimus took a hit of his own shook him out of his stunned immobility.

“Prime!” Ironhide bellowed, suddenly beside Optimus.

“Stop! Stop this!”

But it was too late. The Decepticons had already hurried away with their wounded leader.

Optimus stood, jerking out of Ironhide’s hold. “Who is responsible for this?” he growled. “Who just destroyed my chance at peace?!”

~ | ~

Ratchet jumped to his feet as Optimus Prime and the others returned. There were no serious injuries, but Optimus was hit.

“That was such utter stupidity,” Lockjaw said. “You were told-“

Ratchet paused, three steps into a rush toward Prime to see to his wounds, and looked around at the sneering Council mech in time to see his helm explode.

Utter and complete silence followed as Optimus Prime slowly subspaced his blaster, and walked away. Ratchet glanced around, then hurried to follow. Optimus must have run when he was out of sight, because even at a quick pace, Ratchet didn’t find him until he overrode the locks and entered the Prime’s personal apartments.

“Optimus-“

“Don’t,” came the muffled voice. “I can’t- I just killed him!” Optimus looked up at Ratchet, dropping his hands, optics wide and pale. “What have I done? What did _they_ do? It was a chance at peace, Ratchet! It was a chance, and he hadn’t even made an unreasonable demand! He hadn’t even come near me! Megatron was _unarmed_!”

Ratchet inched closer, then finally sat beside Optimus on the sofa. “Treason is punishable by death. If Lockjaw was the one that ordered the ambush on Megatron, then… well, he got what he deserved. Just… minus the trial.”

Optimus moaned, and curled forward again, face in his hands. “I killed him, Ratchet. I took a life in anger. What’s wrong with me?”

Ratchet rested a hand on Optimus’ knee, and squeezed a little, offering what comfort he could. “This is a symptom, Optimus. Not you. This isn’t your spark.”

“I’m so frightened of what I’m becoming.”

Biting his lip, Ratchet asked, “When was your last interface? You need to _use_ your spark to help settle it with the Matrix.”

“I fear all the calming sparks on the planet would not help me now.” Optimus sat up, turning to Ratchet. “They’ll never be who I want.”

Ratchet pulled away as Optimus reached for him, doubting his ability to stay in control. “You know that I can’t.”

“Ratchet-“

“I can’t. I’ve read all the texts. I’m nothing at all close to what you need.”

“You’re who I want, Ratchet. Who I love.”

Ratchet froze, spark aching. “I’m not calm. I won’t help stabilize you. I could _ruin_ you, Optimus!”

“And this rejection is better?!” Optimus stood, and Ratchet backpedaled. The fear must have been visible, _radiating_ off him, because Optimus slumped. “Leave.”

“Optimus, I’m-“

“Leave. _Now_!”

Ratchet fled the room, spark breaking for his former lover. He was locked in his own quarters when he remembered he hadn’t even repaired Optimus’ injuries. That realization only compounded his guilt.

~ | ~

“This is intolerable, Prowl!” Smokescreen said, pacing back and forth, doorwings vibrating with anger. “How could you? How could you follow the Council against the _Prime_ for frag’s sake?!”

“I did not order that shot fired, and as was demonstrated, the Decepticons brought backup as well.”

“This won’t go well,” Skids said from his seat, ankles crossed where his feet rested on the conference table. “Only direction from here is down.” He shrugged. “Or, well, up. As in escalation.”

Prowl frowned at the theoretician. Skids was fairly accurate in his own right, but where Prowl worked with logic and algorithms and probabilities, Skids wondered what might happen, made intuitive leaps, and just _guessed_ as near as Prowl could tell.

“Should have taken me!” Bluestreak said. “I’d have made that shot instead of just dinging Megatron’s armor.”

“Blue-“ Prowl began.

“I could have done it, Prowl! I’ve been on the range a _lot_! Even Ironhide says I’m one of the best shots he’s ever seen. Just yesterday I sent like four hundred rounds down range, and over ninety-six percent were in the center ring. There’s no one else that can do that, you know. Well, maybe Ironhide, but he wasn’t there to shoot, so I couldn’t exactly ask him, but-“

“Bluestreak,” Prowl said more firmly, sighing as he was given a disgruntled frown from the youngling. “I will not put you into a combat situation until I have no other choice. Anger cannot rule us. If we have any hope at all in preserving _our_ culture, we must not sink to the Decepticons’ level. We must not risk what few of us remain.”

“Backup was reasonable,” Smokescreen said. “The problem is that our Council now is no less corrupt than the Senate was.” He snorted a humorless laugh. “Probably because it’s made up of mechs that were Senators and lucky enough to escape death that day.”

Skids snickered. “Hey, that could be it.”

Prowl sighed, flicking his doorwings. “Backup is quite reasonable. It was even reasonable of the Decepticons. One does not just send one’s leader out to face an unknown enemy without guarding him. However, the deed is done. Rehashing it just to lament will do nothing. I mean to see Praxus through this.”

“So what?” Bluestreak demanded. “You’re an Autobot because we’ll win?” He crossed his arms and glared. “Praxus! Praxus is a wasteland! I want to destroy them like they destroyed us! Megatron deserved that shot, and a thousand more just like it!”

“Sit. Down.” Prowl strode forward, pressing Bluestreak’s shoulder until he dropped into a chair. “I am loyal to the office of the Prime. I have _been_ loyal to that office, and serving it directly since before you were sparked. My dedication to the Prime, the Autobots, and the remaining Praxians is unshakable. Each loyalty only pays into the others.” He stepped back, looking at Skids and Smokescreen as well. “From here out, we obey the Prime, not the Council. If a Council member approaches you for something, agree to it, then come directly to me. I shall take the information to Prime. Agreed?”

“Fine.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Smokescreen eyed Prowl a little longer, then nodded as well.

~ | ~

“He _killed_ a mech, Red!” Sideswipe yelled.

“Council mech,” Sunstreaker added unhelpfully. “Probably deserved it a thousand times over, but still.”

Red Alert glared back at them. “Yes. I’m quite aware that he killed Lockjaw. I was right slagging there after all.”

“And you still want to follow him?” Sideswipe asked, voice incredulous. “Red…”

“I know what you’re going to say, and no. No, we’re not leaving. We have energon. We’re together.” Red Alert shook his helm and paced.

“Red,” Sideswipe said, catching him by the shoulders to stop him. “Red. We can’t do this. Come on! You’ve had to have seen it happening? Me and Sunny can see it and we don’t even work in the main compound with you. Prime’s going bad.”

Red Alert hissed, and jerked away. “Are you mad?!” he asked, barely daring to do more than whisper. “I _run_ the surveillance here! If anyone else monitoring were to hear you-“

“Exactly!” Sunstreaker snapped. “We’ve been living under all this oppressive tension, and for what?” he demanded, arms spread. “To be less free than we were when me and Sides were stuck in the Pit?”

“Please, brother,” Sideswipe said, reaching for Red Alert again. “We can’t stay here anymore. It’s too dangerous.”

_And **defecting** is the better choice?!_ Red Alert shook his head vigorously. “No. We stay.”

_Two to one, Red,_ Sunstreaker said, gesturing between himself and Sideswipe. _Majority rule._

_That’s hardly fair! You two always side together!_

Sideswipe reached out again, sighing as Red Alert batted his hand away. _We’re leaving this place, Red. Come with us._

Red Alert’s optics narrowed, spark aching. “Then go. I won’t stop you.”

Sideswipe’s face fell, but Sunstreaker growled. “Don’t come crying to us when he flips completely.” He grabbed Sideswipe’s arm and pulled.

_Red… Little brother, please._

Red Alert closed off the bond. “Stay with me,” he said, trying one last time.

“We can’t.”

Then the door opened, and his brothers left him.

Red Alert almost followed. He took a step in their direction, but then steeled himself. He couldn’t leave. His work was important, and the Decepticons were no better. He’d seen Ratchet’s reports. The war was a stressor on Prime’s systems, of course the Matrix couldn’t settle. He wasn’t being consumed. That hadn’t happened in ages.

He ignored the little voice that whispered that they were about due then, weren’t they?

~ | ~

“We should have killed him!” Drift snarled.

“Agreed!” Starscream slammed his fist down on the table, wings trembling, pretty face twisted in rage.

Megatron sat back in his chair, listening with half an audial to his officers’ rants. He was angry too, but there was more to that whole incident. Prime had been genuinely surprised. So it wasn’t the Prime that had betrayed him.

There was something else too, however, and it was far more disturbing than a little failed ambush. Prime, before Megatron had announced himself, had been pacing, muttering to himself, a wild look in his optics. Oh, he’d dropped the veil of calm and collected over himself readily enough. Megatron had been impressed, but there was something going on. Something hidden by the masks of a mech that had not planned to attack him today.

“Suggestion: second attempt.”

The room went utterly silent at Soundwave’s words, though it didn’t last long.

“Are you mad?!” Starscream demanded. “He was attacked!”

“I do believe so,” Megatron said.

Starscream’s mouth dropped open, but this time it was Drift that spoke. “Lost your farking mind, you know that?” he said, voice a low growl. “They tried to kill you, and you just want to walk out there and give them another chance.”

“If that is what it takes.” Though Megatron thought it might not. Plainly Soundwave had been watching closely as well, or he would never have proposed sending one of his precious Cassetticons back into Iacon.

“No!” Drift said, punching the table as he rounded toward Megatron. “No! That is not what it will take! You are not expendable, and you don’t get to just wave your aft at them to prove a point!”

Megatron was up and moving, Drift, to his credit didn’t even flinch as his neck was grabbed. He did wince a little as Megatron slammed his back to the table, but that _had_ been a bit rough. “Out,” he ordered.

Starscream hesitated, but Soundwave nudged him toward the door. “Megatron-“

“Out, Starscream. Soundwave, write up the conditions of a ceasefire.”

“Yes, Lord Megatron.”

Drift bared his teeth in a hiss as soon as the door shut. “They _aren’t_ going to listen!”

“Perhaps not, but then no one can say I did not try.”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! Who cares what they will say? They say you destroyed Praxus. They think we blew up the Towers on purpose. They think we wanted Altihex to fall to Cybertron!”

“I care to put every effort forth to secure a proper peace. Endless war does nothing for our people. We have made the point that we will not lie quietly under their whips. Now it is time to secure our future!”

“Save your grand speeches,” Drift spat. “I am not impressed!”

Megatron tightened his grip, pulling Drift up slightly as he leaned over him. “I’m alive. I survived.”

Drift’s mouth twisted, optics darkening and narrowing to a furious glare. When his mouth opened to argue, Megatron covered it with his own. Drift’s hands finally came up, clawing into his shoulders, raking down the expanse of his chest plating.

Megatron straightened, other hand catching Drift’s hip to lift him as he turned. Drift’s back hit the wall hard enough to make him grunt at the impact, earning Megatron a bitten lip in retaliation. He growled, pleased and hungry, pulling back to look at Drift. “Nothing like a brush with death to make you feel alive.”

Drift’s comparatively small fist drove up into Megatron’s chin, surprising a laugh out of him. “Fragging glitch,” Drift muttered as Megatron recaptured his mouth.

Long practice brought their energy fields into sync easily, and low, harmonic vibrations rumbled through them. Drift went from shoving and clawing in punishment to clutching and pulling, his legs wrapped tight around Megatron’s waist. It was too intense, too driven to last long, though Megatron tried to draw it out a little.

Drift broke first, sharp cry loud, face open in pleasure in a way it never was any other time, not even in his recharge.

“Beautiful,” Megatron murmured, frame locking up as the excess charge from Drift hit his systems and tipped them into ecstasy as well.

They were quiet for a time, panting against one another, embraces tight and possessive. Megatron turned his back to the wall, and sat, holding Drift in his lap.

“Neither of us has the moral high ground. Not anymore. We, however, cannot be the ones to give into our rage. Cybertron _does_ depend on us, Drift. We must do everything we can.” Megatron smirked. “That includes me waving my aft at the Autobots to prove a point if I must.”

Drift chuckled, and shook his helm, straightening to look Megatron in the face. “Humor your guard’s sanity. Just a little, and play things as safe as we can. You really aren’t expendable. You’re more than a leader. You’re a symbol. You’re hope to mechs that had none.”

Megatron nodded, silently acknowledging what went unsaid. “The sooner we act the better. There is madness in the Prime. Soundwave saw it too.” He ran his hand over Drift’s helm, thumb stroking the pointed finial. “I will kill you myself if I ever see such a thing born in you.”

Drift smiled, fingertips teasing along the main energon line in Megatron’s throat. “I’ll make it fast should it happen to you.”

Megatron nodded his approval. Drift would, and he would succeed. “Good. Now come. We’ve work to do.”

Drift stood, hand out to help Megatron to his feet. “Hold off making peace just a few days. We should make an energon run first.”

Megatron smiled, dipping down to kiss Drift. “Do it.”

~ | ~

The run on Kalis was repelled, but not before the Decepticons made off with enough energon to fuel the army for at least a month. Starscream and Drift made a deadly pair. Starscream led an aerial assault, playing decoy while Drift stole into the facility through underground tunnels long forgotten by the mechs that lived and worked there.

Ground forces escaped unscathed, and were well on their way back to Kaon when Air Command broke off the ‘attack’, and retreated. The Seekers and other flyers came back battered, but all wings accounted for.

Megaton allowed every mech an extra two rations, but stored the rest. He had no idea what was going to come of trying to contact Prime again, and would not let the celebratory mood put them all at risk for starvation in the future.

~ | ~

With the successful raid on Kalis behind them, Buzzsaw was sent in to deliver the message to Prime. He returned wounded, and through Soundwave they watched as he was discovered purely by accident by an unknown Autobot. The mech screamed, guards came running, and Buzzsaw barely escaped with his life. A last glance back showed Prime himself, blaster in hand and trained on Buzzsaw.

Megatron nodded, mouth a tight, grim line. “So be it,” he said, and left the Command Center.


	5. Part Four

Ratchet paced back and forth in the hall outside of Optimus’ apartments. He, like everyone else, had their suspicions. Of course _no one_ was insane enough to say anything.

Except for Ratchet.

Three mechs chosen to be the Prime’s berthmates were dead. Ratchet, as Chief Medical Officer, had checked them over. They were dented and scuffed, but nothing that would kill them. Nothing outward anyway.

He had theories. Horrific, terrifying theories on the possible misuse of Optimus’ spark and the conjoined Matrix. Things that wouldn’t leave any physical signs on the vic- volunteers.

Of course, there were no more volunteers. Who would be mad enough to hand their life to a Prime when his last three lovers had died of mysterious causes in his berth?

Most disturbing of all, however, was how after suggesting they just choose a mech, willing or not, to serve the Prime, Councilmech Simulon went missing. Optimus barely reacted to the news. Prowl promised to start an investigation right away, and Optimus had shrugged.

 _Shrugged_ , and said Prowl could if he wanted to.

 _If_!

Ratchet stopped pacing, scrubbing his face with both hands. He had to talk to Optimus. He had to try.

He pushed the call button, and a moment later the door slid open on Optimus’ command. Ratchet entered, trying not to look as wary as he felt. “Optimus,” he said quietly in greeting.

“Ratchet!” Optimus stood, optics bright in that way that told Ratchet he was smiling beneath the battlemask. “I was actually going to comm you as soon as I finished this.” He waved a datapad, probably a report. “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. I’m almost done.”

Ratchet sat on the large, plush sofa, and tried not to fidget. True to his word, Optimus was done with his task before Ratchet could lose his nerve, and collected two rations of energon before sitting beside the medic.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Optimus said, voice low and intimate.

Ratchet felt his spark leap at the tone. “I need to speak with you.” He accepted the energon as it was held out, draining it quickly, but it wasn’t anything at all as bracing as high grade.

“As do I.” Optimus set aside his own energon on the low side table, taking Ratchet’s empty tumbler too before clasping the medic’s hands between his own. “I need your help, my friend.”

“Yes, I-“

“I can’t stand them. I can’t bear the thought of touching them anymore.”

Ratchet blinked. “Who?”

“Those mechs they hand me as berthmates. Primus! I can’t even call them berthwarmers! They aren’t _warm_ at all!”

“Optimus.” Ratchet shook his helm. “You’re overdue. I’m worried about you.”

Rich blue optics turned to Ratchet, Optimus’ hands squeezing gently. “I know. That’s why I was going to comm you. I want your help, Ratch.”

Ratchet nodded. “Good. I was thinking, maybe one of the priests themselves. I know they tend toward celibacy, but I’ve researched everything, and there’s no rule against interfa-“

“What?” Optimus shook his helm. “No. No, Ratchet, I want _you_! I’ve always wanted you. Just you. This is torture being made to lie with mechs I don’t love and don’t desire!” Ratchet’s mouth opened to protest, but Optimus hurried on. “Please! I _know_ you could help me. I don’t _need_ stability! I need a lover. I need _my_ lover. My spark hurts constantly. The only time I feel even a minor brush with peace is when you’re close.” He lifted a hand, the backs of his fingers gentle on Ratchet’s face. “I need you,” he whispered.

Ratchet’s helm tipped to press his cheek against Optimus’ fingers, and he stared as the battlemask retracted. He stared, vents cycling faster, spark pounding hard in its casing as Optimus’ face moved closer. His optics fell shut, and warmed air caressed his lips.

Ratchet snapped out of the haze, jumping abruptly to his feet, only just barely escaping the kiss that would have ruined them both. “We can’t!” He paced away, then spun back. “Optimus! We _can’t_!” he nearly sobbed. “I can’t. I’m not what you need, and I’m terrified of what you’re becoming. I’ll only make it worse, don’t you see?”

“Ratchet.”

Ratchet shook his helm, turning away. It went against every instinct he had, but he’d studied this. “I won’t stabilize you.” He could feel his spark contracting, hands cold. How could he refuse help? How could he give it? He loved Optimus. He knew he did, but they had to _stop_ this downward spiral, not go diving into the Pit willfully.

“Ratchet.” Optimus’ voice was harder this time, and Ratchet turned back to face him.

“There are rules and traditions in place for a reason, Optimus. What little information I could find on… the fallen Primes, all hinted at the same thing. They did not surrender to the Matrix. They didn’t submit themselves to the wisdom of the priests, who know the lore best.”

Optimus stood, optics narrowing and the blue going pale. “Ratchet!”

“Optimus, please! Talk to them. Tell them everything! Surrender to this before-“ Ratchet cut off with a yelp as Optimus kicked the conversation table hard enough to send it flying. Ratchet’s spark contracted, and he backed toward the door. “Optimus,” he said, voice small and sounding just as afraid as he felt.

A low growl as Optimus continued toward him, and it was all Ratchet could take. He turned and fled, cursing his cowardice even as he ran faster.

~ | ~

Optimus Prime had sat alone in the wreckage of his quarters, remembering the terror on Ratchet’s face. He had caused that.

In _Ratchet_.

Ratchet who waded into combat zones, cussing and demanding the things he needed to save the life under his hands.

Optimus had brought him here for that reason. To save him.

He went down into the temple that night, and stayed for three days. He meditated deeply, searching for how to correct the current situation.

Ratchet was there when he emerged, calm, feeling at peace, his purpose finally set. “Ratchet,” he said softly, taking the red hands between his own. “Thank you, my friend.”

Ratchet smiled a relieved smile, tugging Optimus toward the medbay for the spark scans needed to clear him. Optimus smiled back from behind his battlemask, then left behind the temple for good.

Later that night an alarm was raised. Another Council member was found dead. While everyone was busy dashing frenetically about, Prime smiled still behind the mask. If they were all abuzz over one mech, just wait until they found the mess in the temple he’d left for them. Let Primus, if he existed, save their sparks. The High Priest was already open and waiting on the altar for him.

He shook his helm as theories flew about the Decepticons, and the Security Director, a little mech called Red Alert, ranted for tighter security protocols. Prime left for his own office. He had work to plan, and a message to send.

~ | ~

“I want to know who’s behind this! I have _not_ ordered any such action against those fools calling themselves the Council!”

Soundwave did not reply. He knew Megatron was furious, and the best thing he could do at the moment was try to get to the bottom of the situation. Starscream stood nearby as well, but was not as quiet.

“I don’t understand. So what if someone’s killing the Council. They’re the fraggers I missed!” Soundwave could feel the burn of anger in that statement. Starscream did not like to fail. “I think we should be thanking whoever’s pulling this off. If you ask me, it sounds like we have a sympathizer in the enemy ranks.”

Megatron growled, pacing back and forth behind Soundwave’s chair at the console. “Wholesale murder is not going to accomplish our goals. Something I have been _trying_ to instill in my troops.” He shot a narrow-opticked glare at Starscream.

The Seeker held up a hand. “It’s hardly wholesale murder on those glitches, or you wouldn’t have sent me in to destroy the Senate.”

“They are broken,” Megatron argued.

Soundwave remained silent, understanding better than Starscream because he could sense Megatron’s thoughts and emotions. He had a comprehension of the fear of _becoming_ their enemies that Megatron felt, but would never voice. Not as a fear at any rate.

Soundwave stiffened. “Lord Megatron.”

“What?!”

“Ravage reports: Incoming Autobot messenger.” Soundwave tapped the controls and brought up the video feed. It was grainy, but the streak of blue resolved itself into a lithe blue mech, who picked his way to the top of Kaon’s battered wall, and stood, arms out in full view.

“Send Laserbeak to retrieve the message,” Megatron ordered. “Have the guards remain out of sight, but vigilant.”

“I can take my trine to fly over,” Starscream suggested.

“Go. Be sure he leaves our territory, but do not attack.”

It took a few minutes for Laserbeak to slip and dodge around, carefully losing any possible tails before coming to the Command Center. He landed on Megatron’s upraised arm, and relinquished the datachip before hopping over to Soundwave’s shoulder.

Soundwave handed Megatron a blank datapad, one that would not contaminate anything else if the chip were loaded with a virus. On the monitors, Blurr dashed away, and over the comms Starscream reported, his trine spread out, another few trines up and watching for anything that could be a sneak attack.

The blast of shock from Megatron was a surprise, and Soundwave looked up sharply.

“Prime did it,” Megatron said, voice stolen away to a whisper.

Soundwave blinked, then frowned. “Optimus Prime?”

“Yes.” Megatron passed the datapad to Soundwave. “He wants us to surrender. He wants a unified empire.”

Soundwave read the datapad as Megatron sat in the nearest chair, hardly able to believe it. It was such a simple message. “The Prime has fallen.”

Megatron shook his helm, trying to deny it. “We try one last time.”

“My lord?”

“Recall Starscream. He will take the treaty proposal to Iacon the same way the Racer brought us that.” Megatron gestured roughly toward the datapad Soundwave still held. The telepath’s own fingers felt almost numb, and he clenched his jaw against the urge to say it was pointless. “I will not trade one subjugating empire for another.”

Soundwave felt the resolve, felt as Megatron rallied from the shock. He sent the return orders to Starscream, and readied the treaty.

They would try this first.

~ | ~

Ironhide stood above the destruction, spark pounding, optics wide. He’d been there when Prime had received the reply message from Megatron. He’d seen the rage, learned the truth with the others.

Rather. Had the truth confirmed.

Now this. Kaon a wreckage. Burning.

Ironhide could see Prowl from the corner of his optic. The doorwings were held high, vibrating with tension as he stood off to Prime’s side. He wasn’t pleased either. His shock had shown clearly. He’d debated against this course of action.

Unfortunately, on Prime’s right side stood Shockwave. It was his drones destroying the city.

“As you see, my lord, the drones have the city well in hand even as few as there are.”

Prime nodded slowly, optics locked on the view below. “I thought there were more Decepticons.”

“I believe Kaon to be merely one of many bolt holes,” Shockwave said. Ironhide saw Jazz tense and Prowl’s mouth part before his jaw locked shut again.

“I like the drones. Make more. We’ll burn the Decepticons out of every hole they hide in.”

“Prime,” Prowl began.

“They refused to surrender. I gave Megatron all the chances I’m going to.”

Prowl subsided, optics paler than usual as he watched the horror before them.

Ironhide saw a flash of white, met Jazz’s visor, then deliberately turned his face away as the spy silently, unnoticed by anyone else, slipped away.

As Shockwave continued to point out the value of his drones, Ironhide entertained the idea of following Jazz. He dismissed it as impossible at the moment. He was too visible. He was in Prime’s line of sight. He was _red_. He was the Prime’s bodyguard…

Ironhide was also too well trained and too loyal. He cursed himself, and kept his optics on the fires of the dying city. This was wrong. So how could he fix it without betraying everything he believed in?

~ | ~

Drift was snarling and pacing, and blatantly ignoring Megatron’s orders to sit the frag down. “Do you know how many are dead?!” he demanded.

Megatron frowned. “Too many.”

“That wasn’t a battle! That was frelling _genocide_!”

“Mind who you speak to about genocide,” Starscream snapped, hands deep in Megatron’s mangled shoulder.

Drift hissed, narrowing his optics at Soundwave when the mech looked up from where he was trying to repair Megatron’s lower leg. Drift was furious! There’d been only a moment’s warning that the Autobots were coming. Then, instead of facing opposing warriors, they’d been overrun by weaponized drones.

“What are your thoughts, Drift?”

Drift whirled back around, glaring at Megatron. “That he’s out of his fragging mind!”

“I think today sent a very clear message,” Starscream agreed.

“Affirmative. Prime does not desire peace.”

Megatron’s gaze dropped to Soundwave, and Drift growled low. Then louder as his leader and lover smirked knowingly at him. The expression dissolved quickly back into a frown. “Agreed. It looks like we are not just fighting for our planet, but our survival.”

“Madness detected at first meeting.”

“So you’ve said before, Soundwave.” Megatron frowned, staring at the far wall while Drift prowled back and forth, waiting, glaring, feeling helpless and furious, and wanting to crush the life from every Autobot in existence. “He has succumbed. The only choice left to us is to destroy him,” Megatron said.

~ | ~

Ratchet stood as Prime strode in. “Optim-“ He cut off as his arm was gripped, stumbling as Optimus didn’t even break stride.

“Prime!” Ironhide called, following them.

Ratchet scrambled to keep his feet under him, but it didn’t really matter. When he lost his footing, Prime just hauled him along. He completely ignored Ironhide, and Ratchet tried to gesture the mech to back off.

“Damnit, Prime! Stop!” Ironhide bellowed.

Prime drew up short, Ratchet yelping as he was swung around when Optimus turned. “Ironhide.”

“This ain’t right! Ain’t none of this right! Ya destroyed a whole city today. Ya killed the Council! Now what? Ya gonna murder your best friend? Ain’t there been enough blood today?”

Ratchet fell as he was released. “Optimus. Please…”

Prime stalked forward, slow and deliberate. “Murder?”

“Can’t ya see how wrong this all i-“

Ironhide flew back from the blow, crashing into the wall.

Ratchet scrambled to his feet, darting around in front of Optimus before he reached Ironhide again. “It’s ok,” he said, glancing back as Ironhide stood, wary and tense. “It’s ok. Ironhide’s just upset. How could he not be? Look how far the Decepticons have pushed us.”

“Ratchet.”

Ratchet looked back again, giving Ironhide a look. Idiot. He was trying to save him. He turned back to Optimus, trying to soothe with a light touch. “It’s ok,” he said again. _It’s not. It’s anything but_. “Come on.” He tugged gently at Optimus’ wrist. What else could he do?

Prime glared down at Ratchet for a moment before looking at Ironhide. “Go sort yourself out.”

Ratchet could _feel_ the ‘or else I will’ hanging unspoken at the end of that order. He tugged again, gasping, but going meekly along when his arm was grabbed again.

Prime dragged Ratchet right through the front room of his quarters and into the berthroom. Ratchet felt his spark trip, but he bit his lip and stayed silent. When Optimus threw him at the berth, he didn’t protest or fight. He’d have lost, but that wasn’t why he submitted.

No. He should have done this ages ago. Optimus had known what he needed. He’d asked, and Ratchet had failed him. Maybe it wasn’t too late? Maybe he could still help, as he should have.

It was the single most brutal interfacing Ratchet had ever endured. Optimus growled, and bit him, and demanded he scream. Ratchet was covered in dents, the color nanites on his plating gouged away to bare metal in some places. He was sore, and weeping, spark hurting in so many ways by the time Optimus flopped to the side and dropped into a deep, peaceful recharge, their hardline cables still connected.

Ratchet could feel the contentment though, and it gave him a measure of peace. Maybe, just maybe, he had helped, and wasn’t too late.

~ | ~

Ironhide grunted as his knees hit the deck plating. The heavy chains clanked as he arched his back to look up at Megatron.

“The Prime’s bodyguard,” Megatron said, circling slowly. “How interesting.”

Ironhide stayed silent. He’d come here alone, walked toward where the latest intel said the Decepticons were holed up, until a warning shot at his foot stopped him. He’d surrendered, gone uncomplaining as he was chained and dragged. His only words were that he wanted to see Megatron.

He had not enjoyed the _very_ thorough search for bombs, and was not at all happy to have had all removable weapons taken, but he would endure. This was better than what he’d left. It had to be.

“If you’re going to explode, do it now. I have work to get done today.”

“Not gonna explode. Came ta join ya,” Ironhide replied, optics tracking Megatron as the large silver warrior came to stand in front of him again.

Surprise flickered across Megatron’s face. He hid it quickly, but not fast enough for Ironhide to miss it. “Is that so? I don’t think a Prime’s guard has ever abandoned his post before. There are all those oaths.”

Acid over a raw wound, Ironhide thought, shame and guilt weighing his spark down. Memories of the bright, young, and enthusiastic mech Optimus had once been burned him, and he shook his helm slowly. “I swore ta protect the Prime from all harm. Failed that, but not sure I coulda done better. It’s eatin’ at ‘im from the inside. Ain’t nothing left of the mech I knelt before when I made those promises.”

Megatron’s helm tipped, carefully sculpted curiosity on his face. Ironhide wondered what became of the earlier mech. The gladiator with a dream, with an open face that showed his anger at all the injustice he saw. Not for the first time since he left Iacon did he wonder if he wasn’t trading one maniac for another.

“He’s gonna make Cybertron burn,” Ironhide added. “I won’t help him ta do it.”

Megatron eyed him a moment longer, then stepped back, turning to look behind him. “What do you think?”

Ironhide’s optics went wide, then he smiled as Jazz stepped forward. It’d been weeks since anyone had heard anything of the spy.

Jazz grinned back, then looked up at Megatron. “Hide wouldn’t be here if he weren’t serious.” He looked back down at Ironhide. “Ain’t the easiest mechs ta gain trust from. Gonna have ta tell ‘em everything ya know. Gonna have ta match up with all I told ‘em.”

Ironhide nodded. “Didn’t come here ta play games. Ain’t no stoppin’ him now.” He hesitated, optics dropping to the floor. “Jazz… He claimed Ratchet.”

Ironhide _felt_ Jazz stiffen, and when he looked up at Megatron’s confused, ‘What?’, Jazz was as still as Ironhide had ever seen him.

“Ratchet’s the Chief Medical Officer.”

“I know that,” Megatron said. “What do you mean he’s been claimed, and why’s that so troubling?”

“Cuz Ratch has been sayin’ no as long as I’ve known him,” Jazz answered. He sighed heavily, kneeling beside Ironhide and removing the chains with the swift efficiency of any expert spy. “Primus. He’s gone right round that bend.”

“There’s no savin’ him,” Ironhide murmured, and helped Jazz shove the chains to the floor once his arms were free. He stood, facing Megatron. “Let me help save Cybertron, and I promise, so long as ya don’t go mad too, I’ll fight as hard for ya as I ever fought for Prime.”

Megatron’s optics shifted to Jazz, then over to where Soundwave stood, silent and unobtrusive. There was the slightest dip of Soundwave’s chin, then Megatron turned back to Ironhide. “That needs to go,” he said, pointing to the Autobrand.

Ironhide’s spark never felt heavier, but he nodded in agreement. It stood for all the wrong things now anyway.

~ | ~

Of all the places Prime imagined he would find his former bodyguard after so long missing, alive and wearing an enemy insignia across the battlefield had not been one. The Decepticon ground fighters were barely holding off the drones, while the flyers ran strafing runs, and tried to get away with as much energon as they could.

The sight of Ironhide, purple emblazoned where once he’d worn Prime’s mark enraged him. Prime strode forward, ignoring, barely even hearing the shouts as he waded into the battle. He shot his way through the drones, cutting a path directly toward Ironhide, optics locked on purple.

Silver rose up, and Prime was plowed sideways. He snarled, striking back as fists pounded into him. As always when he and Megatron clashed, they were evenly matched and ended up rolling and grappling with one another.

Prime, however, had bloody, unmitigated fury on his side this time.

Each impact of his fists sent a solid jolt up his arms. He could feel plating give, buckle inward. Megatron grunted in pain, but stayed in close, not allowing either of them to use their full strength.

“I know what you’re doing,” Prime growled.

Megatron snorted, twisting under Prime’s weight, blocking the arm Prime tried to press down on his throat. “You no longer even know what _you’re_ doing, Prime!”

“Stealing my soldiers.” Prime struck out even as he was knocked sideways, Megatron rising over him, trying to angle his cannon arm downward for a shot. Prime wouldn’t allow it. “I’m going to rip their traitorous sparks out. After yours.”

“You’ve fallen,” Megatron bit out, breath hissing as Prime got a solid blow in to his side.

“No. I’ve accepted. Submitted.” Prime got a knee up, and kicked, sending Megatron flying back and off of him. He jumped quickly to his feet. “As you will. As they all will.”

Megatron launched into the air, firing and forcing Prime to dodge to the side. He rolled, coming up. The Decepticons were fleeing, and Prime took a few shots at Megatron, cursing as he missed. “After them!” he roared. The drones followed, but they were too slow to catch even the grounded mechs being helped away from the battlefield.

Prime stormed back to where Prowl stood with Shockwave, and without breaking stride slammed his fist into the side of the purple scientist’s helm. Shockwave stumbled to the side. Prowl scurried out of the way, but he wasn’t the target. Prime could hear him ordering Autobots in pursuit.

“Improve them.”

“Of course, my lord,” Shockwave said, helm bowing.

Prime ignored him, and turned for Iacon. He barely remembered the trip. Rage boiled within his spark. Ironhide needed punished, put to death publicly. Traitors would die.

He only just registered Ratchet whimpering, pinned to the floor with Prime’s large hand around his neck. “Never,” Ratchet said. “I’ll never betray you.”

Prime paused for a moment, easing his grip. “You had better not.”

Pale aqua optics opened to look up to him, fearful, but earnest. “I love you. Never. I swear.”

Some of the storm calmed, and Prime pulled Ratchet up, battlemask retracting so he could capture the soft mouth with his own. This he needed. This helped soothe him. Prime bit at Ratchet’s lips, hands rough and possessive, taking and claiming all over again. Ratchet babbled soft promises when he could, and whimpered and clung as Prime ravished him on the floor of the throne room.

~ | ~

Prowl held tight to Bluestreak’s hand, feeling guilty for the relief he felt even as his spark broke.

Bluestreak’s helm lolled to the side, body weakening as the crack in his spark chamber leaked his life-force. There was nothing the medics could do. Nothing even Ratchet, were he not… occupied elsewhere, could do for him.

“Dunno what happened,” Bluestreak slurred.

“Hush. It doesn’t matter,” Prowl said softly, glancing up as Smokescreen entered.

//Is there no hope for him?// Smokescreen asked.

//No. He’s been given a generous dose of sensor-blockers, but he won’t live much longer,// Prowl replied.

//Poor youngling.// There was so much in that one statement. Smokescreen stepped up to Bluestreak’s side, opposite Prowl, and touched his shoulder. “Hey there, little Blue.”

“S-s-smoke…” Bluestreak’s optics rolled as he tried to focus. Prowl’s optics burned, but he pushed aside the hurt. The horrid truth was that Bluestreak was unhinged and always had been, but he’d gotten worse, crueler, just as Prime had.

“Right here, bitlet.”

“N-not a bitlet.”

Smokescreen chuckled. “You’ll be ancient and rusted, and still our bitlet.”

Bluestreak huffed, vents wheezing slightly. He fought to look back at Prowl. “Tried. Those… twins. Had the gold one in my crosshairs.” His helm lolled again as he tried to shake it. “Traitor. Someone behind me.”

Prowl purred softly, leaning closer as Smokescreen rubbed Bluestreak’s arm and murmured comforting nonsense. Bluestreak wasn’t interested. “Dying. Stop it. There’s… a traitor, Prowl!”

“I know, Blue,” Prowl said. “Try to calm down.”

A snort. “Don’t matter.” Bluestreak’s optics were dim and unfocused. “Behind me. Hadda be a traitor.” His grip was suddenly tight, and Prowl had to suppress a shiver at the intensity of hate in Bluestreak’s expression. “Promise me. Find him! Rip his spark out for me.”

Prowl released Bluestreak’s hand as the red and black began to fade to grey, color nanites following his spark into death.

“I’m sorry,” Skids whispered from the door. He bit at his lip, doorwings hanging low. “I ran here as fast as I could. I wanted to say goodbye.”

Prowl straightened, flicked his doorwings back, and walked for the door. Smokescreen was better at this than he was. Prowl paused only long enough to let his hand rest on, and briefly squeeze, Skids’ shoulder.

There was a killer in the Autobot army, one Prowl needed to find. One he needed to watch. First, however, he needed a cube of the worst, tank-rotting high grade he could find.

~ | ~

Red Alert glanced back, greeting Prowl as the Second in Command entered the Security Center. He cycled his vents slowly, carefully. He’d been living in fear for a very long time now. Ever since Bluestreak’s death. Prowl had come to him, and Red Alert’s spark had nearly guttered out, but it had only been to improve security, tighten the holes.

Red Alert wasn’t sure if it was his growing paranoia or actually happening, but Prowl always seemed to be nearby of late.

“This room is secure, is it not?” Prowl asked.

“In every way I can make it given my back must be to the door and optics on the monitors,” Red Alert said. He knew what they said. Paranoid. Coward. Glitched. They were wrong.

Mostly.

Red Alert was pretty sure he was going to scare himself right into glitching one of these days.

“With our Prime’s determination to rout all traitors, one can hardly blame you.”

Red Alert tensed, covering icy fear with a glare. “Are you implying something, Prowl?”

“Quite the opposite, which is why I asked if this room is secure.”

Red Alert’s frown deepened to a scowl.

“I am utterly and completely loyal to the office of the Prime. There can be no doubt of that.” Prowl’s face was serene and almost expressionless.

“I have never doubted that, Prowl,” Red Alert said cautiously, optics shifting back to the monitors to be sure all was still well before returning to Prowl’s.

“We must kill Megatron. This rebellion needs to be crushed before there is no more Cybertron left to squabble over.”

Red Alert’s optic ridge arched. Understatement much, he thought. “I agree.”

“I have a number of ideas to accomplish that task, but unfortunately no plan survives the battlefield.” The corners of Prowl’s mouth turned down in a little frown, and Red Alert imagined it must irk Prowl quite a lot that nothing went to plan when he so carefully sculpted the battles. “However, it is after that, that I will require your full support, and the support of others.”

“I don’t-“

“You must see it?” Prowl interrupted. “I know you’ve seen it. I have been watching you very carefully for quite some time. You take seriously the protection of this base and the mechs in it. You are highly intelligent, and despite what the rumors say, you are not at all insane.”

Red Alert snorted a slight laugh. “Careful, Prowl, I think you almost complimented me.”

“It is an assessment. I mean no compliment or offense.” Prowl gave a short wave of his hand, as if brushing the matter away. “My point being, once Megatron is dealt with, we can remove Optimus from office, and replace him with a Prime that is not a complete lunatic.”

Red Alert’s optics went wide, helm whipping around, searching for Prime. He leaned toward Prowl, hissing, “Are _you_ mad?!”

“Prime rules with fear. I have served three Primes, and this is not how it should be. Not even with a war to contend with.”

Red Alert could do nothing but stare for a few silent minutes. “There is no way I will stand against Prime. I like living, thanks.”

Prowl leaned forward too, voice dropping. “I understand your fear, and that is precisely what I cannot allow to continue. Megatron must fall first.” He paused, helm tipping, _emotion_ showing on his face. “Bluestreak fell to his own madness.” Another pause as sadness shifted to a something frightening and calculating. “Megatron will fall to his. Then the Prime must follow them so we can reclaim our world. Surely, you must understand this?”

Red Alert felt chilled through to his spark, feeling every fluttering, frenetic pulse of it. He nodded, watching then as Prowl stood, gave his own little confirming nod, and left.

For the millionth time, Red Alert mentally traced the path of his escape route. He’d never been so close to getting up and making the run as he was now.

~ | ~

“We need to try again,” Starscream said. “Our ranks are swelling as mechs flee Prime, but we have no more energon than we ever have.”

“I know,” Megatron said. “Which is precisely why I want you in tactical, not wasting your time in a lab.”

Starscream bristled, wings lifting in offense. “Fine. You want tactics? We take the intel from Jazz and Ironhide and we make a run on Iacon. We steal their top scientific minds, and make them work for us instead of helping Shockwave with those damnable _drones_!”

Starscream smirked as Megatron’s hand came up toward his audial, knowing his sharp, damaged vocalizer could be painful.

Megatron’s optics narrowed. “Mind yourself, Starscream.”

“I am!” Starscream snorted, and began to pace, trying to think. “Jazz said that when he was there, Prime kept his science team all but locked away, already fearful back then that they would try to leave as at least one was a pacifist and completely against the war.”

“And you think it is worth the resources it would take to, what? Rescue them?” Megatron shook his helm. “If between you, Mixmaster, and Acid Storm, you can’t find a solution to make us or the energon more efficient, what makes you think one more unwilling pacifist will help?”

“Because we’re trying to help _all_ Cybertronians. Because we’re not bent on dragging the planet into the Smelters!”

Megatron was silent a few minutes, and Starscream let him think, absorbed in his own thoughts and plans.

“I want Jazz and Drift on this with you. If you don’t all agree on the plan, don’t even bother bringing it to me.”

Starscream nodded, leaving immediately, comms already open to call both mechs, and Soundwave to the war room.

~ | ~

Battered and scorched, Starscream helped Jazz onto the med berth. Megatron stormed in before Starscream had even managed to pry up the dented plating impeding Jazz’s ability to walk.

“Enough of this!” Megatron snapped, growling as Drift batted away his hands.

“M’fine. Quit it!”

“We got close,” Jazz said.

Megatron growled again, stepping back as Soundwave moved in to see to Drift’s injuries. “No more. Two scientists are not worth my top warriors’ lives. I don’t care how close you got! _They_ came much closer to capturing you!”

Starscream sighed, shared a look with Jazz, and chose not to argue. They’d already decided that a squad going in wasn’t doing any good, and after half a dozen attempts, the Autobots were guarding their medical and scientific mechs too well. “Yes, my lord,” he said, disappointed, but knowing they wouldn’t succeed. They’d lost too many already. It just chafed that Sunstorm’s sacrifice was for nothing. That his cousin’s mates were now suffering and the Decepticons remained empty-handed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Temple by LB82](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7263103/chapters/16490905)


	6. Part Five

Wheeljack slipped quietly through the corridors. Things were bad all around, and he knew it. Autobot morale was low. Most of those that stayed, stayed out of fear. Shockwave’s drones were no longer seen just in battle. They hunted deserters, killed mechs in recharge that were suspected of treason. They slaughtered everyone in their path, and were no better than the mechs that remained Autobots because they _liked_ the violence Prime encouraged.

Wheeljack was rarely allowed out of the science complex, but he still paid good attention. The Decepticons tried, but it wasn’t enough.

Worst of all was Ratchet.

Everyone knew he belonged to the Prime. No one taunted or abused him. They didn’t have to. Prime did more than enough. Wheeljack had to talk to him. He had to try to help.

Thankfully, Ratchet was alone in the medbay when Wheeljack slipped in. The faded smile Ratchet gave him cut into his spark. He missed the snarky, funny, energetic young medic so much he could easily crumble and weep for the loss.

“Hey, Ratch,” Wheeljack smiled instead.

Ratchet’s optics ran over Wheeljack’s frame. “You don’t look injured.” He smirked. “For a change. Losing your touch? I don’t think you’ve blown yourself up in over a month.”

Wheeljack chuckled because he was expected to. “Nah. Just came to see ya.”

Ratchet gave him another wan smile. “You’re not busy in the lab?”

“Not too busy for my best friend.”

Ratchet looked up, suddenly, sharply focused, expression suspicious.

“Easy, Ratch. I just wanted ta see how ya’re doin’.”

“I’m fine,” Ratchet responded far too automatically.

Wheeljack hopped up on a med berth, leaning back on his hands, trying to look as nonthreatening and nonaggressive as possible. “I kinda doubt that. Everyone knows how he-“

“No one knows _anything_!”

Wheeljack blinked. “Easy, Ratch, I-“

“No!” Ratchet’s hand slashed through the air as he stomped toward Wheeljack. “No! This is _my_ fault!”

“Ratchet. He hurts you.”

“Because I failed him.”

Wheeljack caught Ratchet’s hands as his old friend stopped in front of him. “I fear for ya,” he whispered. “No mech should put up with what ya do.”

Ratchet’s optics flared wide and nearly to white. He jerked back. “I won’t leave him!” Wheeljack began to shake his helm, but Ratchet hissed, looking around frantically, as if expecting to see Prime suddenly there. He rounded back on Wheeljack. “Don’t you turn into a traitor too!”

“Whoa!” Wheeljack’s hands came up. His mind was spinning, and the floor felt like it was going to slide away as his spark lurched in fear. “No! Frag, Ratchet!”

“Swear to me! Swear to me _now_ that you’re-“

“I’m loyal, Ratch!” Wheeljack hurried to say, cutting Ratchet off. “Primus! Ya know I am!” He reached out, but Ratchet dodged the hand aimed at his shoulder. “Just don’t like seein’ ya dented up is all.”

“He’s an ardent lover.” Ratchet looked down at himself, seeming as if he was only just noticing the scrapes and dents in his plating.

Wheeljack could have wept. Instead he chuckled, forced a smile, and said, “I bet!” He walked to the storage cabinet and pulled out a few tools and a polishing cloth. “Why doncha let me help ya get fixed up. Silly rumors get started this way.” He gestured to Ratchet’s damaged plating, spark breaking as Ratchet smiled.

“Yeah,” Ratchet replied, chuckling too. He sat himself on a berth, and let Wheeljack work on repairs for a few minutes in silence. “You should know better, Jack,” he said softly.

Wheeljack kept his face tipped down, feigning concentration, and just nodded.

~

Perceptor bit his lip, and retreated from the medbay door. No one was safe, least of all him. When the Decepticons first were trying to get to him, he’d prayed they would succeed. Then he prayed that they’d just blow something up that would end him. Now he only lived to protect the one mech that couldn’t protect himself.

Speaking of which, he needed to get back. Shockwave was far too aware of his lack of loyalty. It left Perceptor in the precarious situation of only being ‘free’ because he was of use. He had no doubts that if he outlived that usefulness _he_ would be Shockwave’s next project.

Perceptor slipped into the lab from a side door, optics going to the gold Seeker chained up behind the faint glow of the energy shield. He tried not to flinch as Shockwave entered only moments later, optic on the datapad in his hand.

“Status?”

“Everything is ready, however, I do have misgivings about the-“

“Noted,” Shockwave said, no inflection in his voice, though Perceptor got the distinct impression he’d annoyed the mech. “Begin charging the capacitor.”

Perceptor met the Seeker’s optics, showing every ounce of shame and sadness he felt for being a part of this abominable twisting of ‘science’.

~ | ~

Megatron shoved his way into the medbay, able to hear Starscream’s shrill voice over the noise of the gathered crowd.

“ _ **Quiet**_!” he bellowed.

Decepticons parted, shrinking back, and Megatron was finally able to see. Hook, covered in radioactive neutralizing foam, was doing his best to ignore Starscream’s ranting as he worked on the foam-covered frame of a mech that was trying his damndest to speak loud enough to report whatever had happened.

On a berth, pushed to the far wall was yet another foam-coated frame, the grey pallor of death visible on what used to be bright orange armor.

“Starscream!” Megatron snapped.

“Sunstorm! They didn’t _kill_ him! They turned him into… to…”

“A weapon,” Tailgate said.

Megatron looked down at the mech. “Tell me.”

“Raid was going good. Then the drones came with some ‘Bots. We were fighting them off, got the flyers loaded and gone, and were working on retreating when they all just pulled back.” Tailgate shuddered, making Hook hiss a curse. “Sorry,” he muttered, trying to lay still. “It wasn’t really Sunstorm. It was like… his shell or something. He attacked us, all glowy.”

Megatron’s optic ridge arched. “Glowy.”

Tailgate’s expression went a bit sheepish, but he nodded. “Glowing and radioactive, and fragging _hot_. Smelters hot. His first pass _melted_ the mechs he got close to.” He tipped his helm just a bit to indicated the dead mech. “We were farthest away, scouting the return route to be sure none of the ‘Bots had got behind us. Moron went running back. Grabbed him, and dropped into the sewers. Ran.” Tailgate held up a mangled, melted hand. “Shoulda left his fool aft there, and run for it. He was contaminated enough to melt me up too.”

Megatron nodded, looking to Hook.

“He’ll live. Radiation levels are down, though he’s not going to enjoy me cleaning his systems.” Hook glanced back. “It’d be great if I had room and peace to work.”

Megatron smirked, and turned to look at the mechs that hadn’t been smart enough to leave when he’d arrived. They scattered, and Megatron motioned Starscream to leave.

“They have Sunstorm,” Starscream said, optics pleading.

“And how exactly are you going to get close enough to rescue him?”

“Is that permission to figure it out?”

Megatron nodded, but stopped Starscream with a hand to his shoulder once they were alone in a corridor. “Rescue or merciful death. Do not risk everything and every life we protect for one that may very well be better off simply free.” He paused. “ _If_ there is even anything left of Sunstorm to that… mech.”

Starscream’s expressive face flickered through emotions, pain, anger, and finally acceptance, the more recognizable ones. He nodded once, and pulled away, wings held high and stiff.

~ | ~

Soundwave jolted in his seat, standing quickly. Megatron was by his side in an instant. Absolutely _nothing_ that could cause that reaction in Soundwave could possibly be a good thing.

Megatron allowed himself a brief instant to lament, wondering, _what the frag could it possibly be **now**_? He’d been leading an almost constant retreat since Sunstorm was first sent out. Between him and the drones, the only respite the Decepticons got on the battlefield was when Megatron himself was there. Prime was obsessed with fighting him himself. That put Megatron out on every mission, if for no other reason than to offer than minimal protection to his troops.

Prime couldn’t very well fight with Sunstorm drunkenly looping around the sky and melting everyone. Jazz had even managed to get close enough to witness Prime beating Shockwave in full view of the other Autobots for suggesting allowing him to send Sunstorm in a direct attack on Megatron.

“He’s _mine_!” Jazz had reported Prime roaring.

Each raid, each battle, each frelling _day_ made the Decepticons more desperate. No one was unaffected by what had been done to Sunstorm, but the Seekers were barely controllable. Only Starscream’s sworn promises to fix this kept Acid Storm and Icestorm from doing something entirely stupid.

So, Primus, please, what now?

“Soundwave?” Megatron asked.

“Ravage returns.” Soundwave’s soft monotone was shaded in shock. “Starscream en route. One moment.”

“You called Starscream?”

“Affirmative.”

Whatever shock Soundwave had had, he shook off, sitting back at the console, and jacking directly in. Screens flickered, view changing to schematics, and maps.

“It’s a trap!” Starscream said, storming in, voice tight.

“Negative.”

“It _has_ to be!”

“Negative,” Soundwave repeated, as calm now as Starscream was riled.

They both pored over the data on the screens, and Soundwave handed a chip back over his shoulder to Starscream, who inserted it into a datapad from his subspace without missing a beat. It was times like this that Megatron wanted to laugh at them. Soundwave, for all his calm serenity took great delight in prodding Starscream’s volatile temper.

Or had, when things had been a little better than they were now.

The Cassetticons joined in on Soundwave’s side occasionally. Jet baiting, they called it, and Starscream was ridiculously snide and snarky, and rather mean right back.

Then, when required of them, they worked together as smoothly as life-long bondmates, seamless in the cooperation. Enough to make Megatron’s spark warm with pride that he had such capable officers.

“This can’t be,” Starscream said, voice hushed and pulling Megatron from his thoughts. “It just can’t be.”

“It is,” Soundwave said.

“Would either of you mind telling me what I’m looking at?” Megatron knew the maps of Iacon rather well, but these were different. There was a route marked out through tunnels even Drift had never mentioned.

“This is how we rescue Sunstorm,” Starscream informed him, optics glued to his datapad. “This is how we turn the tide. It’s everything. Maps of the inner compound, hidden escape hatches, routes, exactly what Shockwave did to him…” He trailed off, muttering to himself as he leaned over Soundwave to look more closely at the glyphs on one of the screens.

“Figure it out.” Megatron opened a comm to Jazz, Drift, and after a moment to consider, Acid Storm as well, calling them all to the Command Center. He wanted _all_ his best minds on this.

~ | ~

Jazz scowled his whole way into the Autobot compound. He slipped around a few alarms, but other than that, it was far too easy.

Easy set him on edge.

Jazz made his way slowly to the lab and slipped into the shadows by a stack of crates. He spotted Perceptor instantly, and even a blind mech would have seen Sunstorm glowing within the imprisoning energy shield.

Perceptor’s hands stilled as Jazz deliberately scuffed his foot, and Sunstorm’s optics swung toward him before looking away just as quickly.

Jazz waited for Perceptor to acknowledge him, and crouched with the handle of an energy blade in his hand. As he watched, Perceptor copied a datachip.

There was about where it all went to the Pit, Jazz thought. The main doors swooshed open, and Shockwave entered with long, sure strides. Perceptor closed his hand, but it was too obvious he was hiding something.

Shockwave moved forward. “And what have you there?”

“Just a datachip,” Perceptor replied, but Jazz could hear the quaver in his voice.

Sunstorm’s optics were bright and intense, wings up and back, ready to pounce, but trapped.

“Indeed.” Shockwave backed Perceptor to the table, and help out a hand. “Give it to me.”

Jazz moved, slipping on silent feet, energy blade activating as he closed on the enemy. The blade cut Shockwave’s main energon lines, left and then right sides of his neck, and as he fell, Jazz whipped around, and buried it in the mech’s cold, evil spark.

“Oh… Oh my…”

Jazz looked up at Perceptor, then back down to be sure Shockwave was dead. “Fragger deserved ta suffer.”

“You have no idea,” Perceptor said, voice barely over a whisper.

“He get the alarm out?”

“No. No, I don’t believe so. That happened rather quickly.”

Jazz grinned. “Better’n he deserved, but now we gotta get ya both outta here.”

“No. Here!” Perceptor pressed the datachip into Jazz’s hand. “I cannot leave him, and he cannot come with us.”

“Perce. I get this one chance, mech. I’m takin’ both of ya out of here now. With Sunstorm, we can fight our way free.”

“And where will I go after?” Sunstorm asked.

“Starscream’s workin’ on it. We’ll- Stop shakin’ your fraggin’ heads at me, I’m _not_ leavin’ ya here!”

“You were not supposed to come,” Perceptor said.

“Are ya glitched? How could we _not_ come after-“

“Jazz! You are running out of time!” Perceptor closed his hands around Jazz’s, encouraging his grip on the datachip. “Take that and go! Use the information, and tell Starscream to _hurry_!”

“I ain’t leavin’ ya here. Forget it!” Jazz frowned as Perceptor backed away. “Come on, mech. Let the lightshow out, and let’s _go_. What are you doing?”

“I am sorry, Jazz.” Perceptor pushed a button, and a klaxon sounded. “You need to run now.”

Sunstorm was as close as he dared get to the barrier, hands up as though he’d press against it if he could. Jazz looked between them both, swore, glanced at Shockwave’s grey form, then ran out the way he’d snuck in.

The blaring of the alarms followed him into the tunnels, and even after he couldn’t hear them anymore, he was too aware of them. He moved fast, slipping away as silently as he could. Jazz plugged the datachip in as he moved, downloading the contents, then quickly shoved the chip into his subspace.

The blow took him by surprise, and Jazz swallowed a curse as he tumbled into a roll that brought him back to his feet.

Nothing.

Nothing to see, and nothing on his sensors.

_Frag me._ “Raj,” Jazz said as if this was no more than greeting a friend as they passed by one another.

“Jazz,” Mirage’s disembodied voice replied, echoing weirdly off the close walls.

“Ya don’t wanna do this.”

“Oh. I most assuredly do.”

Jazz twisted, ducking, and felt the air swish over his helm. Mirage and his damn sword. He kicked out, shifted, staying low, and whipped his other foot around in a fast leg sweep. He managed to catch Mirage’s leg with a glancing blow. Unfortunately, it didn’t knock his former protégé down.

Jazz cycled his visor through its settings, switching visual spectrums quickly in the hopes of catching that twitch and shimmer in the air that would betray Mirage’s position. He didn’t stop moving, dancing and spinning, dropping, audials dialed up to their highest gain. A sharp pain bloomed to life on his upper arm, a thrust of the invisible blade that would have pierced his spark.

Jazz snickered. “That the best ya got?” He twisted back, elbow leading, and the impact jarred up to his shoulder.

Mirage hissed, and Jazz gained another scratch from a poorly aimed defensive strike. He pressed in, following. Mirage’s strengths laid in his opponent not knowing where the attack was coming from. Get a hand on him, and he was all but done.

Mirage knew that too, however, and melted away. Jazz kept moving, thought he heard a sound from behind him, and launched forward, toward his exit.

“Gotcha,” Mirage’s voice whispered as pain and heat flared in Jazz’s middle.

Jazz clutched at Mirage’s shoulders, watching the hilt materialize, the hand that followed. He looked up at Mirage’s face, pale gold optics narrowed behind the blue mask.

“I can hardly believe you fell for such a simple trick. I am quite ashamed of you, Jazz.”

Jazz smirked. “Are ya?” He twisted his hand, energy blade activating as he did. It bit deep, sizzling as Mirage’s energon gushed over it from the severed main line in his neck.

Mirage jerked back, sword tearing free. Jazz dropped to his knees, panting. He kept his distance, fumbling for his blaster. Two shots later, and the last of Cybertron’s nobility was a greying husk on the corroded floor of a not-so-forgotten tunnel.

Jazz pushed himself to his feet, overriding the damage alerts. _Hook’s gonna have my aft,_ he thought, looking down at the nasty wound cut into his abdominal plating. There was more than energon bleeding out of him, and new alerts kept popping up. It’d been a risk. A really big, stupid risk.

Jazz took another risk and pinged Soundwave. He had information the Decepticons needed, and even if he didn’t make it back, they would need that data. He glanced back at Mirage’s form and felt a hard burst of sadness and pity.

Poor mech was probably going to rust out right there. It’d been a long time since the Autobots seemed to care much for their dead.

Jazz hoped the Decepticons didn’t leave him where he fell, and limped onward.

~ | ~

Soundwave stood beside Megatron, Jazz to their leader’s other side. The only reason the saboteur was present was because he swore to Ironhide that he would stay close to Megatron.

It’d taken him weeks of recovery, internals slagged by Mirage’s sword, but more damage caused by internal fluids mixing, systems’ stress, and the fact that he _walked_ for three days before Ravage had found him and called for assistance. Jazz had been delirious by that point.

Soundwave knew Jazz would have followed them had Megatron not relented. Today was it, and Jazz had said he _would_ be present for the rescue attempt even if Unicron suddenly showed up and told him no.

The tension vibrated the air, setting Soundwave himself on edge. He could see his creations, darting here and there, mechs dropping from injuries inflicted with quick, brutal precision. Then the sign they’d been waiting for came, the reason Megatron himself was not out and visible where Optimus Prime could see him.

Autobots pulled back, making room. The Decepticons aware of the plan played along, and Soundwave spared a moment to wonder how Prowl could not tell this was orchestrated from his vantage point above the battle.

The cry went up as Sunstorm was spotted. Soundwave coolly directed them to ease back and take cover, and at Megatron’s nod, ordered Air Command to launch.

They would need to get close.

Soundwave stepped forward, exposed and high enough to broadcast, as Sunstorm rushed toward the battlefield, glowing a sickly yellow. He heard the Autobots’ comm lines buzz to life. Seekers darted and swirled around Sunstorm, careful not to get too close. Starscream was of course the most daring, but his usual grace was weighted. Extra plating and a shield generator almost too heavy for him slowed him.

Soundwave pinged the alert, then blanketed the area with a signal block.

Sunstorm faltered in the air, hovering, helm shaking. He caught himself before he lost too much altitude, then rose, drawing away from the ground troops he would kill if he got too close.

Optimus Prime’s roar echoed off the ruined buildings. A shot fell short of Soundwave, but it was close enough to make his creations tense.

“Do it!” Sunstorm shouted, limbs splayed as he hovered.

Starscream rushed in, and even at his current distance, Soundwave could see how his face twisted in pain as he gripped Sunstorm’s shoulder and slammed the inhibitor to the plating of Sunstorm’s torso. Electricity cracked and Sunstorm screamed. He fell as the yellow glow faded, Starscream reaching to catch him, but sagging himself.

Acid Storm and Icestorm dove in as Skywarp teleported to Starscream.

“Order the retreat!” Megatron commanded.

Soundwave released the block, and transmitted the orders. What few Seekers they still had dove, catching up the ground mechs as the other scattered.

“He’s fragged,” Jazz said, nodding toward Prime.

The Autobots scrambled, but they were too far to stop the retreat. Megatron lifted the spy, engaging his thrusters as the battlefield cleared. Soundwave took his place at his leader’s side. “Send Ravage,” he ordered. Get the scientist out.”

Soundwave relayed the command.

~ | ~

Megatron entered the medbay, dismissing Hook with a gesture. He approached the berth, acknowledging Acid Storm and Icestorm when they greeted him.

“My lord,” Sunstorm rasped.

He was still greatly damaged, and there was nothing but proper care and time to heal him from the radiation. The mech was lucky to have survived, and the Decepticons were lucky to have removed one of the Autobots’ most powerful weapons from their hands.

Jazz had wanted to be the one to come today, but Megatron denied him. It was his responsibility, no matter what fault Jazz thought he held.

“I come with bad news,” Megatron said without preamble.

Sunstorm’s chin lifted a notch. “We’ve been unable to rescue Perceptor?”

“Perceptor is dead.”

Sunstorm flinched. “He…”

“Stormy,” Icestorm said softly, taking his mate’s hand.

Megatron cycled his vents. “Ravage is not as fast as Optimus Prime. By the time he got there to try leading Perceptor out, it was already too late.” He set his hand gently on the rough plating of Sunstorm’s shin guard. “I am sorry that all I can offer is to avenge him. His sacrifice will be recorded with honor.”

Sunstorm nodded, optics shutting as he rested his helm back on the berth.

Megatron left, spark heavy. Pretty words would not replace the mech. They would not bring back an incredible asset the Decepticons could have used, and they were all but meaningless in the face of the annihilation his people were staring at daily. They would not plug the hole in Sunstorm’s spark for the mech that saved his life, and they would not ease the guilt Jazz felt in not saving Perceptor when he had a chance. Regardless how slim or ill-advised that chance would have been.

Megatron entered his quarters, and stretched out on his berth. When a small, warm frame joined him and pressed to his side, he merely wrapped his arm around Drift, and kept breathing.

~ | ~

Wheeljack submitted his report to Prowl, noting how paranoid Shockwave had been. The drones were useless without him. Perceptor might have been able to decode them faster, but Wheeljack hadn’t worked with them. He was going in blind, and so far every attempt to hack in had ended badly.

Only a few minutes later Prowl pinged him back, saying to work quickly, the Prime wanted his drones operational, and Prowl would prefer not to have to report Wheeljack’s continuing failure when Prime asked for an update.

Wheeljack shuddered.

The weeks following Perceptor’s death were the Pits. _Everyone_ was desperate to prove how loyal they were, and Prime wasn’t hesitating at all in destroying anyone that dared to even talk out of turn.

Wheeljack knew he was running out of time, but started badly when the lab door slid open. He whipped around, optics wide and pale. Seeing that it was Ratchet didn’t do much to ease his fears.

“H-hey, Ratch.”

“I was looking over your notes,” Ratchet said, and took a seat on a stool beside Wheeljack.

Wheeljack tensed a little more. The past few days Ratchet had been trying to help him. “Great! Didn’t know any of ‘em survived that last blast.”

Ratchet’s optics rose to meet Wheeljack’s, and he felt his spark trip. “You’ve been my best friend how long, Jack?”

“Ratch-“

“You need to run.”

Wheeljack blinked. “…What?”

Ratchet gestured to the datapad in his hand. “You’ve been lying, Jack. The failures. The explosions. Please don’t deny it. I’m good with circuitry. Remember?” He gave Wheeljack a small, bitter smile. “You’ve betrayed us.”

“No.”

“You’ve betrayed me.”

“Ratchet!”

“I have to tell him. You know it would be so much worse if he found out on his own, but you’re my best friend, Jack, so I’m giving you this one chance. Run.”

Wheeljack stood as Ratchet did. “Come with me.”

Ratchet stepped back, optics sad. “I love him. Now run. You only have as long as it take for me to get to his quarters.” He turned and headed for the door.

“Ratchet, please. It’s not your fault.”

“Run, Jack.” Ratchet looked back as he reached for the keypad. “Please. Run fast.”

Wheeljack stared as the door closed, will sapped, strength gone with the shock for a moment. Then he turned, hands reaching for _anything_ that might be useful. It all went into his subspace.

Then Wheeljack ran.

~

Ratchet remained kneeling beside Prime as the report came in. The explosions that had rocked the compound caused dozens of cave-ins. There were a number of dead mechs found, but none of them were Wheeljack.

“We’re still working on it, my lord,” Red Alert said. “So many passages have collapsed. It’s entirely possible that he’s in the wreckage.” He fell silent as Prime’s growl filled the throne room.

“Out.”

Red Alert fled.

Ratchet shivered as Prime’s helm swiveled to look down at him. “I know who’s fault this really is.”

“I’m sorry,” Ratchet whispered. “I shouldn’t have confronted him first, but he was my best friend. I didn’t want to believe it. I’d never betray you.”

A large hand caressed over Ratchet’s shoulder, slid up his neck. Thick, powerful fingers wrapped around his throat. “No?”

Ratchet didn’t fight as he was jerked up and held nose to nose with Prime. “I love you,” he gasped, but it did no better this time than it did any other time he said it.

~ | ~

“You are certain?” Prime asked, and Prowl nodded.

“If we act fast and decisively, we should be able to destroy the last of the Decepticons.” Prowl changed the view on the map, pointing out the points of entry to the Decepticon base. “We go in from all directions at once, move in quietly. They will not know we are there until it is too late.”

Prime nodded. “Megatron in mine. Ready the troops.”

Red Alert relaxed only marginally as Prime left the war room. His spark pounded. _Sideswipe. Sunstreaker._ He was too far from them for anything more than the knowledge they were currently alive to transmit over the bond.

“It is time,” Prowl said, watching Red Alert.

Red Alert nodded. “After the battle?”

“In the confusion. Do not act alone. Wait until I can be near you.”

“Ratchet?”

“I will see to it he remains… contained. Prime does not bring him into combat so it should not be difficult.” Prowl removed his datachip from the table and gathered his datapads.

Red Alert stepped back, picking up his own datapad, holding it with both hands as he looked over the information. Prowl led the way out, and Red Alert let his optics flicker up to a high, dark corner, then back to Prowl. The Second in Command’s back was to him, but Red Alert knew how much information those doorwings could collect. He stayed just far enough behind Prowl that the Praxian was exiting the room a few critical paces before him. The change in air currents and spatial difference gave Red Alert that single precious instant he needed to put the datachip on the counter, once again placing his faith, life, and the lives of his brothers in the claws of the enemy spy.

~ | ~

“I say we take the battle to them,” Starscream said.

“Negative.”

“What?! You want to just run? _Again_?!” Starscream snapped. “We will run, and they will find us, and next time we may not get this warning in time to do anything about it!”

“Starscream,” Megatron said.

“No! You know I’m right! I’m sick of hiding! I’m sick of watching my people die!”

Megatron’s fist slammed into the table.

“Iacon’s too well defended,” Drift said. “I agree with Starscream. We need to pick our battlefield, and not Iacon.”

Starscream’s arms and legs crossed, huffing. “Agreed,” he admitted sullenly. Then he straightened in his seat, wings perking. “And I know the perfect spot.”

Megatron cycled his vents, and straightened as well. “Good. Get busy planning. Ironhide is comming me. I’m going to talk to the panicking masses giving him trouble, and when I get back, I want to see a plan.”

~

Starscream gathered the few trines that still lived in the Air Command briefing room. “Two hours,” he said to them, reaching for Skywarp.

Skywarp smiled, and purred softly as Starscream pulled him into a kiss. Thundercracker’s hand stroked over a wing.

Around the room the other two trines, and the two pairs that had joined into the rare quad bond curled toward one another as well. The air was thick with a sense of finality. They had nowhere else to run. It was fight and win, or fight and die now.

~

Sideswipe rubbed the polishing cloth in small, smooth circles over gold plating. Weapons had been checked and rechecked.

_I just want to see him._

_Me too,_ Sunstreaker said.

_Just want to feel him one last time._

“Knock it off.” Sunstreaker turned, arms going around Sideswipe’s waist. “Don’t you dare fragging give up _now_.”

“I’m not giving up!”

“Then we’re going to win.”

Sideswipe grinned, and leaned in for a kiss. _Pit yeah, we will!_ Though the fear was tangible over the open bond. _Just want to see him. Miss him._

_Me too,_ Sunstreaker replied after a moment. _We have to see this through, Sides. It’s the only way to finally get him back._

_Yeah. We can do it._

Sunstreaker nodded. He let the need for his family to be whole again burn through him until his hands tingled for the feel of a blaster, and his legs itched to _move_.

Today. Today they got their brother back.

~

Drift arched, gasping, hands tight on Megatron’s shoulders. There were no words. The coming battle would be all or nothing. There was no place else to escape to if they lost.

This was goodbye.

Just in case.

Megatron’s hands moved slowly over Drift’s frame, gentle yet still ardent. Drift shook, for once not fighting against the emotion swelling with the inexorable build toward overload. When it broke over them, he said what he’d never dared to before.

Megatron didn’t cheapen it with a reply, wrapping himself around Drift until it was time.

~

“Ain’t gonna live long if we don’t win.”

Jazz turned his helm to look up at Ironhide, and snickered. “Well then, guess I’ll just hafta kick some serious aft out there.”

Ironhide’s shoulder bumped Jazz’s, and he grinned back. “Tell ya what. They capture ya, I’ll make sure you get a quick end. You do the same for me?”

“Sounds like a deal. Can’t image Prime’s too happy with either of us.”

“Don’t reckon so.”

“After we win,” Jazz began, “and rid the ‘verse of all that evil stuff, I think we oughta get cratered and ‘face each other stupid.”

Ironhide nodded slowly. “They all think we are anyways.”

“Nah, there’s a bettin’ pool on when we will.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“Huh.” Ironhide shrugged. “Should be somewhere public then.”

Jazz laughed. Hard. He threw his helm back and all but cackled for a good few minutes, slumping against Ironhide. “Pit yeah, my mech. Pit yeah.” He continued to snicker intermittently until the call to arms went out.


	7. Part Six

“ ** _Prime_**!” Megatron bellowed across the battlefield, stepping forward, arm cannon already glowing with charge.

“Megatron.” Prime’s growl carried across the distance in the absolute silence.

Their armies stood at their backs, tense, many afraid, Megatron knew. “We don’t have to do this,” Megatron shouted, needing to try one last time.

Prime’s battleaxe spun once. “Yes we do.”

Then he charged.

Megatron rushed to meet him, firing as he ran. The shot hit Prime’s shoulder, but wasn’t at all enough to stop him. Blaster fire blazed around them. Mechs shouted, cried out in pain. Megatron let himself sink into the moment, body absorbing the blows. The axe went spinning away, and Prime roared in hate. 

They’d done this so much, it was nearly a dance, but it was different this time. Megatron withheld nothing, tearing at wires, pummeling with his fists, kicking, biting. It didn’t matter. He had to take Prime down _today_.

Prime clawed him, gouging thick armor. He managed to pull a blaster and the shot punctured Megatron’s thigh. As so often happened, they devolved to angry grappling, biting out curses, taunting one another.

Megatron howled as his cannon was wrenched. Charge built, and Prime fired his blaster. The explosion sent Prime flying, and nearly tore Megatron’s arm off.

“Kneel,” Prime said, staggering to his feet, chest plating shredded to the point Megatron could see the glow of his spark through the cracks. “Kneel before me now. And I will give you a quick death.”

Megatron smirked as he climbed to his feet. “Liar,” he purred.

Prime dove at him, and Megatron stepped forward. He took the blows, grunting in pain as his damaged arm was grabbed and yanked. He clawed his way in though, pounding with his fists when he could get the distance and balance for a solid strike.

Megatron let his injured arm hang, angling back as if trying to protect it. Prime, in his rage, did not see the blaster until too late. Megatron fired. Prime fell back. He switched hands, and fired again, each shot aimed into the shattered mess of Prime’s chest.

Megatron fired until Prime collapsed to the ground.

He fired until he was sure.

He fired until the world went silent around him.

What hope there once was lay in ash around him. Megatron stared out over the ruination of the battlefield, a silent, still witness to the end. The dead lay grey. The pleading and crying of those still bleeding out onto the wrecked and rusted ground echoed strangely in the odd silence.

A mech once known for his incredible speed limped off, slow and bleeding. The two Decepticons chasing him let him go. He wouldn’t live to see morning. Megatron himself felt old, exhausted, beaten and broken.

Megatron let his gaze drop to his feet, and wondered again; how had it come to this?

Optimus Prime was grey, silent and keeping his secrets. The pink of his energon blood was already fading from bright to dull, a puddle of dark fluids growing under him. Strange for its life, the shine of the Matrix glowed from Prime’s cracked and ruined chest.

Megatron felt Drift draw close as he crouched. He heard Starscream’s sharp intake as he reached out for the Matrix. His hand closed around it, and he lifted it free as though it’d merely rested there, instead of locked and bound to Prime’s own spark crystal.

Warmth pulsed into Megatron’s hand, sensuous and sweet. The voices from ages past whispered, the battlefield and its bleak visage faded, morphed. It became silver and shining. The crumbled buildings thrust high into the star-strewn sky. The broken roadways arched. The dead no longer littered the ground, and all around life sparkled and winked, bright, cheerful, full of hope.

Over it, surveying and commanding all he saw was Megatron. Powerful. Beautiful. Loved and respected.

A hand squeezed his shoulder, and Megatron turned his helm. He saw Starscream as he would be, gleaming white and crimson, wings proud, and optics clear and happy. He watched that fade as reality returned.

“My lord?”

Megatron shook his head, clearing away the last of the vision, and looked back down at the Matrix. It still pulsed warmth, still wove a siren song of everything he had always wanted, but it went too far. He would rule because he knew he was capable, but he would be fair, and he did not need some corrupt artifact to do it.

Warmth flashed to heat, then ice as Megatron squeezed. When one hand wasn’t enough, he forced his damaged arm to comply. When that still wasn’t enough, he threw the Matrix to the ground, and stomped on it. It shattered, agony blazing up through Megatron as the grey world went black.

“That was the Matrix,” Starscream whispered, optics wide and pale as Megatron came back to himself and looked up at him. Soundwave removed his hand from Megatron’s helm and stepped back. Drift’s face was blank in a way that told Megatron he’d been genuinely frightened.

“It was a lie,” Megatron replied, and forced himself back to his feet. He looked between his lieutenants, cycled his vents, and began to allow himself to think of what they needed to do now that the war was essentially over. “Come. We have work to do. Round up the remaining Autobots. Save every spark that can be saved. We will sort out those that will accept peace from those that refuse later.”

Starscream launched after a nod. Soundwave gave Megatron a slight bow, then began comming orders to those capable of following them.

Megatron looked back down at Optimus, waiting to feel… anything. Something. Relief? A renewed sense of purpose?

A hand slipped into his own, warm frame against his uninjured arm, and on reflex alone, Megatron tipped his face down to brush a kiss over Drift’s helm.

“It’s been a long war,” Drift murmured. He sounded flat. Like he felt as Megatron did.

Megatron huffed a humorless laugh.

“Suggestion: Focus on needed tasks. Processors will adjust in time.”

Megatron straightened his shoulders. Soundwave was right. Pits, he’d said it himself. They had work to do, and Megatron allowing himself to look as tired as he felt now was no more acceptable than before. He gave Drift’s hand a final squeeze, then released him. “Make sure the dead are truly dead, then set up salvage detail. Stabilize the wounded, but lock them up. We trust no one we haven’t trusted all along.”

“Acknowledged,” Soundwave said, and Drift nodded.

Megatron gave a decisive nod, then stooped to lift Optimus’ shell. There was a more or less clear plain down slope from him, he would set up salvage there. They would clean up this battlefield first. Clean up themselves.

Cybertron would rise from her ashes. Her sons would rise from their own.

They would rebuild, and the future would be better than the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Darkness Falls by LB82](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7263103/chapters/16490917)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Darkness Falls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7263103) by [LB82](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LB82/pseuds/LB82)




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